


Hard Deviations

by flute25



Series: Divergences [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Buckle Up My Friends, Flashbacks, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Sith Lore, a bit of self harm, dark side slow burn, minor alcohol abuse, obi wan is going down a not-light path, probably references to onderon as well, rako hardeen arc, references to a friend in need, you think i'm kidding but this is going to take some time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 89,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9384584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flute25/pseuds/flute25
Summary: “The snares of the world were its ways of sin. He would fall. He had not fallen but he would fall and surely, in an instant. Not to fall was too hard and he felt the silent lapse of his soul, as it would be at some instant to come, falling, falling, but not yet fallen, still not fallen but about to fall.” James Joyce - Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManObi-wan Kenobi goes undercover, fighting a battle against Dooku, the Sith, and himself. Takes place during the Rako Hardeen arc.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of the story "Undoing Dichotomy". While it would be useful to go back and read that story, I will be dropping important plot points of "Undoing Dichotomy" throughout this story. 
> 
> Without giving too much away, Obi-wan (and to be honest, a lot of our main cast) will be flirting with some dark impulses.

The morning air hung heavy. Sunlight barely filtered through the veil of haze that wrapped the city in its stale embrace. The man stared out into the yellow-grey miasma, trying to identify the individual features of the landscape.

He saw only a vast expanse of nothing.

He wiped his brow and turned back to the capital, passing under the fallen carcass of a tree that served as the entranceway into the city.  Domed, pustule-like structures littered the horizon, interspersed with neon signs advertising shops, cantinas, and multitudinous forms of carnal satisfaction.

The man took a large breath in through his nose. He immediately regretted the action, nearly gagging in response to the assault on his olfactory senses. It seemed that the city's ever-present spectrum of noxious odors had somehow expanded overnight.

Phlegm crackled in his chest. He paused to let out a few deep, productive coughs, making a point not to expectorate the results on the ground as he had seen the locals do so often. Satisfied that he had purged the latest toxic incursion on his body, he climbed the ramp leading to a cantina patio just inside the city gate. 

His steps were sluggish. Sweat poured down his back as he reached the empty landing. He looked down at himself. The layers of leather material he wore were ill-suited for the climate of the planet. He should have planned better, but there had been little time and too many eyes. 

The man scowled and walked to a table furthest from the cantina entrance. The surface gleamed with an oily residue, a product of the previous night’s rainfall. He wrinkled his nose and pulled a cloth from his back pocket, wiping down the surface of both the chair and table in front of him. 

The once-white fabric was now stained in some horrible, unnamable shade of green. 

Sighing, he replaced the soiled rag in his pocket, making a mental note to burn it at the first opportunity.

A few speeder bikes raced by - the first signs of a city stirring from its languid slumber. They tore out of the entranceway towards the swamps, kicking up dust in their wake, the roar of their engines ripping through the air. The man glanced at the chrono on his wrist - he had time. The others wouldn’t be found for at least another few hours, and even then there would be a fight before they were forced to return to the city center. He looked one last time at the table and chair, making sure there was nothing else clinging to the surface. Satisfied that they were nominally clean, he took a seat. 

Almost immediately, the door to the main building swung open. A young Twi’lek ran outside, waving her arms. She pointed a blue-skinned finger at the man. “Not you again! Not open! Too early! Come back later!” She glared at him, crossing her bare arms over her chest.

The man put a nonchalant foot up on the table and pulled a few credits out of his pocket. He tossed them to the young girl without comment. She caught them practiced ease, grasping the chips in her slender hands. 

Each morning had begun the same way. 

He watched the Twi’lek count the currency, her eyes straining with greed. A long minute later, she grinned with satisfaction and returned inside.

Alone at last, the man pulled out a worn datapad from inside his grey, woolen vest. 

It was only a piece of technology - a somewhat obsolete form, at that - slightly larger and heavier than the standard, newer models. The corners were worn down, the grey paint chipped away to reveal the inner metal casing. Not even the black market would have much use for it, except for parts. It was a truly unremarkable machine.

The man stared at the device - and shuddered. He could swear it was staring right back at him, beckoning, teasing... _demanding._

He cursed under his breath. Today he would not open it. 

One day. The first day. He would resist. 

The Twi’lek girl returned with a drink in hand - a green beverage that was disturbingly reminiscent of the liquid he had just cleaned off the table. She set it down with a false smile, her irritation with the man’s intrusion tempered by the distinctive _clink_ of credits in the pocket of her brown pants. 

He took a sip and grimaced. Three days of practice had _not_ acclimated him to the vile substance.

The Twi’lek girl smirked. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll enjoy.” 

The man pursed his lips and rocked back in his chair, watching the girl disappear behind the cantina door. He took the glass in his hand again, trying to not actually _look_ at the beverage he was consuming. 

He turned his head, observing a group of Gamorrean guards trudge towards the city entrance, their attention drawn by the approaching mechanical convulsions of a speeder engine. The craft came to a stop in a cacophonous cadence, giving one last black-smoked wheeze before capitulating to its injuries.

A Rodian jumped out, gesturing at a group of crates in the rear of the vehicle. The burly guards advanced towards the unbalanced speeder with trepidation - the large boxes had caused the back of the craft to sink at least a foot.

The man’s interest was piqued. At the direction of the Rodian, the guards began to unload the mysterious packages from the craft, obviously straining to lift even one of the unwieldy boxes. The man wondered why they just didn’t use repulsor lifts or droids. It seemed horribly inefficient.

Then again, Gamorreans were known for their strength, not their intelligence.

Deciding he had seen enough, the man's attention wandered away from the grunts of the porcine guards to the now-bustling streets. 

He caught a glint of metal jewelry. A Weequay huddled in the shadows of an alley, rocking back and forth, his eyes yellow and sunken. 

Probably looking to buy deathsticks. 

The man sighed and looked towards the east. A Hutt slithered towards a dilapidated building, leaving a trail of slime in its wake. It was a front for the largest brothel in town. He had observed scantily-clad men and women being escorted to the pleasure house at odd hours of the night. They had worn distinctive collars around their necks.

The man clenched his drink. The friction of leather gloves against glass caused the material to emit a shriek of complaint. 

Shouts from where the speeder had stopped stole his attention. The Rodian was holding a small, brown package in one hand, making the universal gesture for credits with the other. 

Something cold slithered up the man’s spine. 

The Rodian shouted at hooded figure partially obscured by the bulky group of Gamorreans. He couldn’t understand the harsh language, but he could sense the rising levels of anger in both parties.

The man frowned. It wasn’t his place to get involved. And besides, wasn’t it a bit early in the day for this? 

The argument reached a fevered pitch. And then - a blaster shot, followed by a distinctive _thud_. Dust billowed where the Rodian’s body had dropped. The hidden figure yelled something - his voice deep and rasping - and the guards returned to their heavy lifting. Clawed fingers extended to pick up the strange package that was the source of the deadly confrontation. Once again the man felt an icy, insidious grip at his back.

He rubbed his face with a shaky hand.

Tomorrow. He would stop tomorrow.

He set down his drink and picked up the datapad, waving his hand over it. The device came to life and opened to where he had left off. 

_“...a form of meditation when properly applied and maintained...”_

The alcohol began to quiet his anxiety, to erode his worries, his frustrations.

_“...mask their own...appearing completely benevolent to even the most powerful and alert...”_

It was research. Research that had proven fruitful, in fact. His discoveries went a long way to explaining certain aspects of the past two years that neither the man nor his colleagues had been able to fully grasp. The knowledge, once understood, could prove invaluable to their efforts.

_“...focus their...to control...to hold inside as a perfect...”_

It had been a moment of weakness. There was a danger that everything could unravel if he were to be revealed. He had come so far and done so much - he couldn’t let it all be in vain.

_“...harness...locus of power...dark...”_

The temptation had been too great.

He finished his drink in one long, furious swallow, hoping to quell the panic he felt rising in his chest.

_Let go._

He grasped the edge of the table with both hands, willing himself to release. 

His breaths came faster and faster, building upon each other in rapid succession. The world around him spun. He wanted to scream, to run, to let this primordial beast out of himself. 

He was frozen, gripping the table. His carpal muscles screamed with the effort.

Pain gave focus. 

Something icy-yet-warm slid through his consciousness. It circled his emotions, his feelings, like a predator stalking its next meal. His abstract panic crystallized, now contained in sharp, geometric shapes. 

The man examined each one in turn, holding them in front of him. He observed them from every angle. Deduced their origin. Speculated on their future. Considered their implications. They were now under _his_ control. Ready to be used should the moment arrive.

A deep, familiar voice called to him from far away.

_Let go._

The icy-warm hissed in challenge. It would not release its prize without a fight.

_Let go, young one_.

To let go would be to lose control. To lose control...

He locked them away, safe inside himself. Not to use, he told himself, never to use. 

The dark shadow caressed the edges of his mind, purring in satisfaction, before disappearing down his spine. The man’s breathing evened and the world came into focus once again. He opened his eyes, squinting at the muted sunlight. 

He choked back a sob.

_I’m so sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red herrings and intentional vagueness abound. 
> 
> Chapter 2 preview: We back the action up a week or two and visit a rather contentious meeting of the Jedi Council.
> 
> (Note as of 4/14/17 I have split chapter 1 into 2 chapters and reordered a few things!)
> 
> ~
> 
> Also, I love feedback! If not here, I can be found on tumblr @legobiwan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, oh boy! A (very long) update!
> 
>  
> 
> **(Note as of 4/14/17 I have split this into 2 chapters!)**
> 
>  
> 
> More notes at the end - but!
> 
> *Trigger warning - there is some self-harm depicted in this chapter. Nothing too grotesque but be warned.*
> 
> Also - Oppo Rancisis kind of gets dragged here. Sorry to anyone who might be a lurking Rancisis fan. He just kind of fit a mold I needed.

_10 days ago_

“Surely you cannot be serious.”

Obi-wan leaned back in his chair, perchinghis left ankle on top of his right knee, the movement performed with a forced casualness that was at odds with both the tenor of the meeting and the general bearing of his colleagues - at least the ones whose presence wasn’t a holoimage. 

His right hand tightened ever so slightly on the arm of his chair. He longed to rip off the black glove he wore and relieve himself of the _infernal_ itching that had been plaguing him since the start of the ill-fated Council session. If he had thought that the ludicrous plan just proposed would have distracted him from the intense physical discomfort, he would have been wrong. If anything, his irritation and barely concealed outrage had only increased the intensity of the sensations that the unhealed wound produced.

Obi-wan suppressed a sigh and surveyed the rest of the familiar chamber. He felt as if he was seeing it clearly for the first time, as if a shroud had been lifted from his vision. The room itself was unchanged - modest, bordering on austere with few furnishings or adornments beyond the red council chairs and the fern-like design in the floor. The Jedi Council chambers had always existed in a markèd contrast to the nearby expansive Senate rooms, and certainly to the lavish office of the Chancellor with its esoteric artifacts and plush, red carpeting. 

No, his physical surroundings were the same. But he could not say as much for those who occupied the chamber and the collective Order they belonged to. Not anymore. 

He observed his colleagues - the sinking feeling he had registered as he had entered the chamber earlier was only deepening.

Adi Gallia shifted in her seat, taking her chin with her hand, finding sudden interest in her boots. Eeth Koth, despite his broad physical stature, seemed to sink back in his chair and disappear - a mix of a simple Force manipulation and the man’s own naturally subdued character. 

He glanced to the right. Plo Koon was unreadable as always, due to the breathing apparatus he wore over his mouth and eyes whenever on Coruscant. His Force signature, however, belied a hint of concern, and perhaps even some guilt. 

That did not bode well for Obi-wan.

Directly across from him sat the very conservative Oppo Rancisis - straight-backed, arms folded across his chest. He might have been a statue in the royal Thisspiasian court of his home planet.

A statue that could glare daggers.

“We feel this is the best chance we have to stop Dooku and protect the Chancellor,” Mace Windu spoke from behind steepled fingers, his voice low and even.

The best of the Jedi Order sat in this room - the finest minds, the fiercest warriors, the most accomplished Force users.

* _This* was the only plan they could come up with?_

Obi-wan grit his teeth. “With all due respect, this isn’t a plan, Master Windu, it’s a recipe for disaster.”

He barely registered the murmurings of the other Council members in response to his evaluation of their brilliant strategy. His irritation was rising rapidly and he needed to center himself.

_One, two, three_ \- the young Jedi Master breathed in through his nose and slowly exhaled, restricting his throat muscles to create a subtle _hiss_ that was barely audible over the _whoosh_ of speeder traffic outside. The meditative breathing practice was part of every Jedi’s training - a way to release one’s emotions into the Force.

Supposedly _._

He stole a glance out the large window of the Jedi Council chamber, watching the lights of the busy city traffic zoom back and forth. The movement was almost hypnotic, and Obi-wan entertained an irrational hope that some craft would come and whisk him away from his troubles, from this blasted meeting…

 

* * *

 

_When they arrived back on Coruscant three weeks ago, Obi-wan had sequestered himself in his quarters, ignoring the frantic knocks, comm calls, and mental nudges in the Force that he knew were from Anakin. In his desperation to be left alone, he had almost considered checking himself into the healer’s ward, if for nothing else than to have a place in the Temple to hide._

_But that, more than anything, would have been a gundark-sized indication that something was wrong._

_And there was nothing wrong._

_So instead, Obi-wan passed the week in his apartment. He meditated (and failed). He did Council paperwork (and found himself staring at the same page for hours). He slept (the nightmares were too vivid, too real)._

_He made a concerted efffort to return to his routines, drawing a deep pleasure from mundane, day-to-day activities._

_Taking a shower. Folding his robes. Changing the dressings on his wounds._

_The damage inflicted upon him on Zygerria was a fair bit worse than he had initially thought. Obi-wan’s back was raw with vertical scorch marks. His nose was still tender from being broken - twice, he reminded himself. His knees were sore, mottled purple and blue from the impact of falling on them so often._

_Falling down, in order to protect them. Falling down in front of *him.* He felt the ghost of a lightly calloused hand gently take his chin -_

_Obi-wan leapt up to his feet. The world spun around him. He had forgotten when he last ate a proper meal._

_The Jedi shook his head. Bant would have his hide if she knew the full extent of his injuries and his lack of nutrition. So would Anakin, for that matter. He immediately pushed the thought of his former Padawan aside, afraid the mere conjuring of his name would send the young Jedi bolting through his door that very instant._

_Obi-wan wasn’t ready for that conversation. Not yet._

_He walked to the 'fresher, taking in his own haggard visage in the mirror. The reflection stared back at him, and Obi-wan could almost hear the thoughts of his double-image._

_~You’re beginning to grey around your temples, did you know?~_

_He raised a hand to his sideburns, furrowing his eyebrows. He wasn't a vain man, but yet..._

_~You’re getting a little thin - maybe it’s time to order new robes.~_

_Obi-wan sighed. There wasn’t time and besides, it was a luxury in a time of war he wouldn’t allow himself._

_~You need a haircut - are you trying to regrow that mullet you had as a Knight? It won’t bring him back, you know.~_

_He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the mirror, his breath fogging the surface. It was true - Obi-wan *had* begun to grow his hair out after he had taken Anakin on as his Padawan. Perhaps it had been a way of conjuring Qui-gon’s presence, something tangible that could be a comfort to him in a difficult time. The events of Geonosis had brought him crashing into reality, however, and he had cut his hair soon after._

_He absently reached his hand into his pocket._

_~Are you ready for the next step?~_

_He squeezed his eyes closed._

_“That’s quite enough!” Obi-wan exclaimed._

_Only the sound of his own heavy breathing filled the room._

 

* * *

 

_T_ _h_ _e_   _s_ _ickening waves in the Force began to ebb by the beginning of the second week. What had once been an awful, nearly hourly series of vacillations between heat and cold was now just a mild fever and chills. Probably an intersection of physical infection and psychic shock - he *had* been without the Force for a little over a ten-day, and every Jedi knew that the longer one was cut off, the worse the surges would be until the connection equalized._

_He really should get back to work. There was a war on and he was running out of excuses to keep himself hidden away._

_Obi-wan had managed to avoid the Council in person for the past week through a mixture of sheer luck and arranging his duties so he could work from the datapad in his room. No one questioned him, or pushed for him to return immediately to active duty - his report to the Council had apparently been enough to convince the governing body that he was not fit for immediate redeployment._

_Anakin, he knew, was going to be another matter. He could only keep his former Padawan at bay for so long before he was liable to break down the door. And how to explain..._

_Guilt nipped at the edges of his mind and Obi-wan’s hands began to tingle._

_The Force swam around him, enveloping the Jedi in a mixture of heat and cold. He still needed to...to work on that part, the balance between the two temperature extremes that he was experiencing on a daily basis. Slowly he unfurled his fists, welcoming the rush of blood through his veins and the return of feeling in his fingers._

_It had been a Force-vision brought on by overindulgence in alcohol. It was the only logical explanation._

_It was not unprecedented. As a Padawan, he had witnessed Quinlan Vos down five Itharian Death Shots in quick succession at a particularly sleazy Coruscant bar. How the young Kiffar had managed to convince Obi-wan to accompany him on *that* particular adventure, he would never know. Having won the bet (and the admiration of a handful of beautiful men and women) Quinlan had promptly passed out at the bar, only to begin thrashing wildly ten minutes later when his hand unconsciously curled around a dirty glass._

_They were kicked out and told never to return. Which made sense when one considered that Quin’s next action was to punch the Besalisk bartender in the face and accuse him of not only being a secret Sith Lord, buta shapeshifter whose natural form was a gundark._

_Later, Quinlan would tell him - with his trademark grin - that it was the most *intense* Force vision he had ever had._

_But despite his friend’s talent in psychometry, Obi-wan had severely doubted that the bartender of a vile Coruscant cantina was working for the Sith. Or that he was a natural gundark._

_Alcohol-induced Force-vision, the healers had said, after Quinlan finished emptying his stomach all over the capital’s streets. After Obi-wan had dragged his friend's barely conscious body back to the Temple._

_It was the only possible explanation. Granted, drowning his anxieties and emotions in alcohol had not been the most civilized way for him to have dealt with the fallout from the Zygerria mission, and he rued the time those actions would meet the light of day in the Council chambers. But just as Quin’s Gundark-turned-Besalisk-turned-Sith was a farfetched product of overindulgence and a Force surge…_

_*Honestly, Kenobi,* he chastised himself,  *a comm call from Do- from the leader of the Separatists?A data number of a volume in the Archives?* It would make for a great holonovel, one that he was relatively certain Anakin would enjoy, but couldn’t possibly be rooted in reality._

_Obi-wan chuckled to himself uneasily, patting his pocket. He felt the edges of the data storage device that had been with him since that night._

_The Jedi’s breath quickened. The room tilted in front of him, and he felt his heartbeat pulse irregularly. His palms were suddenly cold, clammy and he felt the rising tide of panic in his chest. Images flashed in front of him - images far too familiar of *that* night. Images he wasn't quite certain had ever really happened._

_He backed away from them, until he could go no further, until his back was flush against the cold, unyielding wall of the room. He held out a hand to steady himself on a nearby bookshelf, eyes shut, trying to will the awful tableau away._

_*There is no emotion, there is peace.*_

_He was forced on his knees, made to serve those monsters. His dignity, destroyed - of his own volition._

_*There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.*_

_They had known how to manipulate him, how to use his sense of duty, of goodness, the Code - all against him._

_*There is no passion, there is serenity.*_

_Anakin, standing over him, weapon in hand - a blinding sun of fury. He could still feel the lashes of the electro-whip as they rained down on him._

_*There is no chaos, there is harmony.*_

_A people, kidnapped. A planet, now subsumed in civil war. And for what end? When would they finally act?_

_*There is no death, there is the Force.*_

_The terrible, heady rush of power. There was no emotion in the cold, no expectations, no *guilt* in the ice. Only purpose. Only freedom._

_The bodies rose in the air -_

_A tea mug sailed across the room, shattering on impact._

_Obi-wan’s eyes shot open._

_He slammed his fist down on a nearby counter, drinking in the pain that radiated through his hand._

_*Focus. Focus. Focus.*_

_His breaths began to align with the pulsing of his hand. As he focused on the pain, he felt...a certain energy. His mind cleared, the emotions receded. Piece by piece, he reassembled his mental shields._

_Obi-wan cursed under his breath as the answer to his shielding issues dawned on him. It was a crutch - a terrible crutch at that…_

_It would allow him to move on from this terrible ordeal._

 

* * *

 

_The knocking had been a bit like a leaky pipe. A drip here and there for a few days- something that might compete for one’s attention for a second, but easily forgotten._

_Until that drip was joined by another, and then another. And by the end of the week…_

_ <KNOCKKNOCKKNOCKNOCK>_

_“Obi-wan, I know you’re in there!”The exclamation was full of chaotic promise, which, knowing Anakin, would be fulfilled in short order._

_The ginger-haired man let out a deep, deep sigh, squeezing his right hand into a tight ball._

_A flash of pain, a surge - the room turned red._

_And the next moment - clarity._

_Obi-wan reached out with through Force. The flames of the blinding sun that was his former Padawan seemed to leap wildly about in irritation and anxiety. “Too close,” Obi-wan noted to himself quietly._

_He shifted his focus. While the flames danced in orange and yellow, large, thin tendrils of dark green reached outwards from another source, consuming Anakin’s raw energy, balancing his wild ferocity while feeding off the warmth that his former Padawan’s Force signature provided._

_It seemed that this time Anakin had brought Ahsoka with him as well._

_Obi-wan slowly withdrew himself from the folds of the Force, wary of coming too close to Anakin’s wildness, or Ahsoka’s earthy touch._

_ <chrreeeeeeeeeeeee>_

_The distinctive scraping of metal against the marble floor shrieked outside the door, followed by a series of grunts. Obi-wan raised his eyes skyward, muttering to himself._

_“He’s actually going to try and break the door down. Unbelievable.”_

_Obi-wan rubbed his forehead with his free hand. He was going to have a massive headache later on. Taking a deep breath, he mustered his energies for what was obviously going to become an animated confrontation._

_“Anakin! What in the GALAXY are you doing?”_

_The ominous scraping sounds stopped, much to Obi-wan’s relief. He couldn’t quite make out the utterances of the two voices in the resonant hallway, on the other side of the door._

_“I just want to talk, Obi-wan! Come on - you’ve been in there for a week!”_

_Obi-wan frowned. While Anakin had been adamant about accosting his former Master for the first day or two after their return, the attempts had quickly ceased. It hadn't passed Obi-wan’s notice that this new flurry of activity coincided with a Senate retreat on Naboo._

_*Bored, my young Padawan?* he thought with more than a bit of animus. Obi-wan immediately shook his head. No, that was wrong, and he knew it. He tightened his right fist again, and a small stream of blood trickled down the back of his hand._

_Almost at once, his mind cleared, like a mist rising, all thoughts of resentment having been purged, or at least sublimated._

_“Anakin, I am *fine.* But if it will ease your mind and allow me some well-deserved peace, you can see this all for yourself in a minute.”_

_Obi-wan ignored the petulant “finally” that rang through the door, instead turning his attention to his hands. Slowly, he unfurled his right fist and placed the small kitchen blade that he had been holding in a nearby cupboard, making sure to close the door. He ignored the grisly mix of dried and fresh blood, of flesh that hung and dripped off the instrument._

_*I’ll wash that later.*_

_He reached for a nearby bottle of astringent, pouring the liquid over the seeping wound, cleaning any extraneous stains from his arm with efficient movements. The wound stung and pulsed in tandem with his own heart. With each beat his pain increased. But with this crescendo in pain came a diminishment of his thoughts, his emotions, until his mind settled into a pinpoint of clear, cool calm.Taking care to make sure his hand was properly wrapped, he took a deep breath and opened the lock mechanisms of the door with the Force._

_Anakin strode into the room, all energy and indignation, his face simultaneously curled in anger and wide with worry. Obi-wan never knew how his former Padawan was consistently able to wear so many conflicting emotions at once._

_The younger Jedi stood a few feet away from him, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Anakin's gaze was immediately drawn to the white cloth wrapped in his former Master’s grip._

_“What happened to your hand?” he inquired, raising one eyebrow._

_Obi-wan sighed and turned towards the battered, brown couch that sat on the other side of the room, an heirloom of Qui-gon’s that had been too practical to give up. "Yes, hello to you, too, Anakin.” He glanced back to acknowledge the young Togruta who had tentatively stepped inside. Unlike Anakin, at least *she* had some conception of proper boundaries. The older Jedi nodded in her direction. “Ahsoka.”_

_“Obi-wan, just - “ The older Jedi didn’t need his eyes to know that Anakin was spastically gesturing behind him, searching for the words that so often eluded him when he was being ruled by his emotions. Obi-wan controlled the impulse to chastise his former student - he didn’t have the energy for that particular argument and besides, Anakin was not his Padawan anymore._

_He lowered himself carefully to sit in the corner of the couch, fighting the impulse to just collapse into the incredibly comfortable and well-worn piece of furniture. Instead, Obi-wan leaned back slightly, crossing his legs while taking his chin with his uninjured hand, as if he were in his Council seat. Within seconds Anakin was towering in front of him, a strange inverse of so many conversations (lectures, if he were being honest) they had had in this exact spot as Master and Padawan._

_“What the kriff is going on, Master? You haven’t been out of your quarters in forever.” The words flew out of Anakin’s mouth almost as fast and furious as he piloted a starship. “Mace has been on my ass for half the week because you didn’t check in to the healers! I keep trying to contact you - “ he counted off on his fingers, “ - by comm, with the Force, by knocking on your door. You’re ignoring me!” Anakin pounded his fist into his hand. “This isn’t right, Obi-wan!”_

_“Anakin.” Obi-wan pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache he had felt the stirrings of earlier in the day was beginning to manifest itself in a most unpleasant manner._

_*Why was Anakin always so pushy?*_

_“This is hardly the first time that we’ve been out of communication after a mission. I had a backlog of Council paperwork to catch up on, and it was most expedient to convalesce in my own quarters where I at least could get some work done without being poked and prodded every five minutes by our over-enthusiastic healers.”_

_They had had this conversation at least a thousand times before. Anakin could not believe that his Council duties weren’t comprised of only endless, boring debates, but actual work, like budgets, reports, inventory…and lately, funeral arrangements. Obi-wan sighed. Between that and his ever-increasing military duties, it was no wonder that he occasionally felt like he wasn’t completely on top of his game, a bit ragged, a bit taken advantage of…_

_When was the last time Oppo Rancisis had filled out Form 824-B?_

_Anakin shook his head furiously. “I’m not buying it, Obi-wan. You never hide like this. It’s always,” and here the young Jedi adopted a particularly atrocious version of Obi-wan’s posh Coruscanti accent, "‘Well yes, Anakin, I may be bleeding out of five different wounds, but we must send in that report to the Council.’” Anakin glowered at his former master, whose face, to this point, remained impassive. “Or perhaps, ‘Anakin, I cannot possibly understand why you must be so *emotional* about such matters.'”_

_Obi-wan clenched a fist. He was a Jedi, was he not? How could Anakin take him to task for fulfilling his duty, for adhering to the Code they had *both* pledged themselves to?_

_“Or how about this one, Master? " A particularly nasty look passed over the young man's face. "‘Oh Anakin, I merely spent ten days as a slave in subhuman conditions, something you would know nothing about.'"_

_Obi-wan tensed._

_Anakin only became more animated, "'I blew up at my student and was near a nexus of a dark Force explosion with a Sith, but really Anakin, it's fine, I just released it all into the Force. I’m sure you would reach the same level of robotic understanding -’”_

_The accusations battered at his control, at his hard-earned focus - the peace he had paid for with his own blood -_

_“ANAKIN!” The icy calm that had laid over the older Jedi’s mind shattered. He immediately stood up, scowling at his former student._

_“Honestly, Anakin! I am a Jedi, not some bloody machine,” Obi-wan growled, his voice hard as Neaurnian rock, but never rising above its normal volume. “Of course I felt something during the whole Zygerrian episode. However, there is no point in brooding over what is in the past!”_

_The taller Jedi didn't move, his usually demonstrative face brought still by the quiet, dangerous intensity of his former Master's words._

_“Our duty as Jedi dictates that we serve the greater good, and sometimes that service comes at a high price. But if we - if you - continue to hang on to these emotions…” Obi-wan shook his head, once again chastising himself for his shortcomings as a teacher. “That can only lead you down a dark path, Anakin. And if I continued to do so, it would be the same.”_

_His initial outburst of energy expended, the older Jedi crossed his arms in front of him, his voice softening, weary with fatigue. “I understand, Anakin, more than you might realize. But what would you have me do? However…unpleasant my time was as a captive, however unfortunate my interactions with - with Dooku were - in most ways they were little different than any other mission.”_

_Obi-wan could sense Anakin gearing up for another argument, like the revving of a speeder's engine. He held up a hand to forestall the words he did not want to hear._

_“I have made my peace with this, Anakin, and part of making that peace was the solitude that I made for myself this past week. I hope you can understand that. Nothing would be gained by opening up the issue all over again. Now, if you would like to meditate with me should you -“_

_Anakin suddenly deflated, rolling his eyes. It was the reaction Obi-wan knew he would receive for the misdirection._

_Neither man spoke, neither made a move to leave or move towards the other - they only stared at the floor in uncomfortable silence. Obi-wan vaguely wondered how long Anakin's patience would last._

_“Master Obi-wan?” He nearly started. The copper-haired Jedi had almost forgotten about Ahsoka’s presence in the room. Obi-wan cringed - this wasn’t an argument he had wanted the young Togruta to witness.“What Anakin is trying to say - “ she faltered, perhaps sensing his discomfort._

_Ahsoka glanced over at Anakin. Her posture straightened, and her voice was suddenly strong, confident._

_“We’re worried about you, Master Obi-wan. You were taken as…as a slave.” Obi-wan tensed at the statement. “I was, as well. It’s - it’s not easy. I had nightmares for a week! And I don’t even think what I went through…” she hesitated, “I mean, compared to the rumors from the other Togruta…”_

_*Blast it.* Of course that information would have leaked. He could only be grateful that it hadn’t seemed to climb the chain of command up to the Council. He would be mandated for the mind healers immediately, if they had caught wind of the particulars of his captivity._

_Still, Obi-wan allowed himself to meet Ahsoka’s gaze and tried to smile gently. ‘Little ‘Soka', Plo would call her. She was truly maturing into a fine young woman, and a wise Jedi._

_“Obi-wan.” Anakin stepped towards him, crossing what seemed to be an endless chasm between the two men, reaching out with the Force at first, then with his hand. “I - “ He sighed and let his head drop. “I know what it’s like, to be a - a - you know.” The words were torn from his former Padawan’s mouth. “Just - I want to help you. “ He raised his head and stared into Obi-wan’s eyes. “You haven’t felt the same. There’s this - “ Anakin tried to vocalize what he had been feeling, when Obi-wan had allowed the connection. “It’s cold, Obi-wan. Like there’s some kind of cover - something hard, impenetrable. I mean - you’re, you’re always difficult to read. But this is - is different.”_

_The light of his former Padawan, which had been so extreme just a few minutes earlier, had softened, its bright rays no longer dancing with a possessed fervor, but instead caressing him with their gentle warmth. He could feel the icy shards of his mind begin to round every so slightly, to melt in its presence._

_“Anakin…I -“_

_What could he say that wouldn’t make him a hypocrite, that wouldn’t expose his failures, that might not destroy Anakin’s already tenuous trust in the Jedi Council?_

_*Yes, I allowed us to take on a mission that I felt betrayed the morals of the Order? I allowed you - and Ahsoka and Rex - to be exposed to inhuman conditions, to be used by those creatures? Yes, I, too, dream of revenge every night? Dream of bodies, suspended in the air, necks breaking with the Force.*_

_Something warm, nearly sensual pooled in the depths of his abdomen._

_*Dream of dark satisfaction as their life signatures leave their bodies.*_

_No, he needed to be strong for Anakin - for Ahsoka. The war would not get any easier, and they needed to be united. One man’s…difficulties - they were not worth upsetting this balance and they *needed* Anakin. To admit his struggles, his doubts - it would only serve to erode his former student's trust in the Jedi. After the war - if Anakin needed to leave the Order, if he chose his relationship with Padmé over hi- the Order...Obi-wan would not argue._

_But for now, there was only the war. Only duty. Only the Code._

_Something stirred in the Force. Some part of his distress must have been partially projected. Anakin’s face crumpled and the young Jedi quickly closed the distance between the two men, drawing his former master into a tight embrace._

_“Oh, Obi-wan.” Anakin’s voice was tight with emotion._

_The ice in Obi-wan’s mind melted even further, beginning to reveal what lay beneath._

_Something dark, something black began to emerge from the icy waters. His right hand pulsed and the data storage device he had in his pocket weighed heavy._

_Obi-wan returned the embrace with uncharacteristic fierceness, as if this was the last time he would be able to hold Anakin in such a way._

_He murmured an apology only he could hear into the other man’s shoulder._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am *not* kidding when I say it's going to take a while to truly get to dark!Kenobi. But - the seeds are planted. I was going for a disassociation vibe more towards the start of his flashbacks. 
> 
> As always, (constructive) comments are welcome! 
> 
> Chapter 3 preview: Continuation of the Council scene! (Now in two chapters!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the already-written Chapter 2! I just reordered some things! (as of 4/14/17)
> 
> New material now begins at Chapter 4!

“Little choice in the matter, do we have.”Yoda’s stern voice interrupted the uncomfortable silence, drawing Obi-wan back to the present, back to Council chambers, back to this whole... _disaster_ being laid out in front of him. The Jedi felt the eyes of the eleven other Council members settle directly on him. 

“And a time for argument, this is _not_ , Master Kenobi.” The Grand Master frowned as he pointed his gimmer stick in Obi-wan’s direction. 

The young Jedi Master finally wrested his gaze away from the freedom that lay just outside the window and contained a weary sigh. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Obi-wan was suddenly very, very tired. He allowed his head to hang low, which caused the front of his usually well-kept red hair to come loose, dangling over his forehead. 

_They want me to fake my own death and go undercover as a criminal._ His vision flitted red, like a thousand insects in flight, before the too-familiar weight of guilt settled on his shoulders. The Force was heavy, almost leaden around him. _And they don’t want to let me tell Anakin._

“I suppose there would have to be a funeral.” His voice was bitter, frigid.

Mace shifted in his seat. “Yes, well - we will need this be realistic.” 

Obi-wan closed his eyes. He remembered, all too well, what it had been like to stand in front of his Master’s burning corpse. He could still smell the acrid smoke of the pyre, could feel the heat of it radiating towards him, drying the tears on his face mid-stream, so it looked like he had never cried at all. 

_And to ask Anakin to do the same, to experience the same loss..._

He felt something take hold of him, digging its icy claws into his back. 

_All for an ill-conceived mission._

“Master Kenobi?” It was Adi Gallia, trying to gently bring him back to the present.

Obi-wan raised his head and cast a withering glare in her general direction.

He knew what they would say. 

_Attachment._

They were right. He was too attached to Anakin. And because of this, he had failed Anakin as a Master. Time and time again, the Council had admonished him - _be wary of your attachment to Skywalker_. And each time he nodded his head in deference and promised to do better, to fulfill his duty as a Jedi.

_And how far did duty get you on your last mission, Kenobi?_

Obi-wan felt a slight breeze and shivered. 

There _had_ to be another way. 

He raised his head to address the Council. “You do realize that by having me fake my own death - we would be breaking the trust of not just a handful of Jedi close to this situation.” Obi-wan was sure to choose his wording carefully. “But, in a way, we would be breaking the trust of the Jedi Order as a whole. It could destabilize us, it could destabilize our relationship with the Senate - which is already teetering in the balance. Many of them are just waiting for a reason to pull us under more of their control. The supposed death of a high-profile military leader…” 

In all honesty, the Senate most likely didn't care if he was truly dead or not. But the subterfuge without their knowledge - it would feed the already too-rampant rumors of Jedi secession, of a political showdown between the Jedi and the Republic. A Jedi takeover. 

_Not to mention it would destroy my relationship with Anakin._

The Council room buzzed with murmurs and furtive glances. 

“Master Kenobi,” a gravely voice spoke up, “while we appreciate your...concern for the members of the Order who might be affected by this situation - they _have_ been taught, some by you personally, to not hold any single life above anyone else’s. They should understand that you are only fulfilling your duty as a Jedi. We cannot let emotions and _attachments_ stand in the way of our mandate and the will of the Force.”

_Oppo Rancisis - of course._ Obi-wan swallowed a particularly sarcastic reply, barely turning his head in the elderly Master's direction, acknowledging that, yes, he had heard the rebuke and no, he wasn't inclined to agree or comment on it.

He cast his eyes around the room, trying to look for a single friendly face, a single Force signature that would at least let him know that he wasn’t completely alone in his opposition to this plan. To this kind of thinking. 

_Not even Adi or Plo?_ he despaired. But that wasn’t completely correct - he could feel both Jedi reaching out to him tentatively through the Force, as a small comfort. But they, he assumed, had most likely made their arguments already, without his presence. 

“Understood, your apprehension is, Master Kenobi.” Yoda placed both hands on his gimmer stick. “But time for this discussion, we have not. If not stopped, this kidnapping plot, perhaps no Senate we would have to argue with. Master Rancisis, right he is. Clouded, you must not let your judgement become.”

Obi-wan turned his head to the small Jedi Master, seeing compassion in the troll’s eyes. He sensed Yoda didn’t like parts of this idea much more than he did, but he also knew that Yoda would not betray the Code or a Jedi’s duty for the sake of personal matters. And that the same was expected of him - of all of them.

They were right. To a point, at least. Obi-wan couldn’t let the issue of Anakin get in the way of a tremendous threat to the Republic’s political stability, especially in the middle of a drawn-out war. 

If only this hadn’t come right on the heels of the Zygerria fiasco…

Obi-wan spoke to the floor, unable to meet the gaze of his fellow Jedi. “Any other salient details you’d like to inform me of, Master Windu?” Acid dripped off of his words.

Mace frowned, crossing his arms in front of him. “That depends, Master Kenobi. Are we to understand that you are accepting this mission?” It wasn’t a question completely devoid of sympathy. They wouldn’t be giving him the illusion of choice if they didn’t at least have _some_ idea of what they were asking of him, even if they - to a person - would deny it.

But Obi-wan also understood the unspoken challenge in the inquiry - a _re you too compromised to do this?_

If he said no, he might have his seat on the Council suspended. Sent to the mind healers. Have intense meditation sessions with both Mace and Yoda. And the Council would be sure to _not_ assign him and Anakin on as many joint missions. 

His hand began to itch again. No, no - he couldn’t be put under such close scrutiny right now. Couldn’t risk being even further separated from Anakin - not when he sensed his former Padawan struggling to achieve balance. He had made a promise - until the end of the war. And he intended on keeping it.

Still, Obi-wan wasn’t feeling all that charitable towards the Council at the moment. While his final fate may have been sealed, he decided that he might take some perverse pleasure in…what was that phrase that Anakin like to use - pulling their collective chain? He had spent too many years saying “yes,” never arguing, never questioning. Perhaps it was not becoming of a Council member to engage in such things, but something inside of Obi-wan sung at the idea of defying the them, at least for a little bit. _I am the teacher of one of the most contentious figures in the Jedi Order, and the student of one who was notorious for his arguments with the Council._

_And as Qui-gon’s last Padawan, it’s about time I start living up to his legacy._

Obi-wan sat back in his chair. “Yes...well - I would still like to know a few more details before I make my final decision.”

For not the first time, Obi-wan was glad for his beard. It hid his smirk as he felt a wave of shock rip through the Force among the Council members. The assumption had been that Obi-wan was here to be assigned a mission, not to decide if he were taking one, especially a mission of this magnitutde. He could sense Oppo Ranciss’ irritation at him. Even Adi, far from a hardliner, was looking furiously in his direction. 

As Master Rancisis had said, _duty above all else. And I will do my duty,_ thought Obi-wan. _Just with a little diversion first._

Obi-wan observed Mace and Yoda exchange unspoken words. After a moment, the little green Jedi Master gave a slight nod. Mace sighed deeply, and pulled a holodisc from his robes. Almost immediately, Rako Hardeen’s holoimage floated in the middle of the room.

“We’ve hired a bounty hunter named Rako Hardeen to kill you in a ten-day. He’s a sniper expert,” Mace explained. “You’ll be outfitted with protection so the shot won’t do you too much harm, and before then you’ll also be supplied with a vital suppressor that will render you all but dead when the time comes.”

Obi-wan considered the man in the image. He was gaunt and angled, quite severe, in fact. The left side of his face sported a red tattoo, in a sort of flame pattern, which culminated in an unclosed circle in the middle of the man’s brow. 

Familiarity tugged at the back of Obi-wan’s mind. _A Concordian?_

“And _after_ I’m dead,” he responded dryly, not taking his eyes off of the image in front of him, “then what?”

“Are we to assume that means you are accepting?” pressed Windu.

The young Jedi finally let his gaze drift from Hardeen to Mace. 

“You may assume I am considering all possibilities, contingent on receiving more information.”

That _did_ elicit a few growls from the occupants of the chamber. Something in Obi-wan purred with satisfaction. 

It was petty revenge, but sowing even the lightest amount of discord felt - well, it felt _good._ There would be time to focus on duty, to return to being the model Jedi - serene and respectful. 

Yoda tapped his gimmer stick on the ground twice, silencing the grumbling in the room. 

“Perhaps best it is, if in a more private setting, this issue is discussed. Mmmm, Master Kenobi?” Yoda’s tone harbored no malice, no reprobation, but also no room for argument. 

“Of course, Master Yoda.”

The unspoken order was understood by all. The other Jedi slowly filed out of the Council chamber, or turned off their transmissions. Obi-wan could feel their gazes - some sympathetic, others judgmental of his little outburst of insubordination. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the last figure of Ki-Adi Mundi exit through the door.

Yoda hopped off of his seat, walking slowly in Obi-wan’s direction. 

“A delicate situation, this is. Best, if fewer ears and eyes, the details hear.” Without the nine other council members, the chamber suddenly felt overly-large for the three remaining Jedi. Obi-wan was almost beginning to regret his behavior. He felt a slight flush crawl up his throat. 

Yoda pressed the button to close the shades of the windows, descending the room into a gloomy darkness. Obi-wan sent a silent _thank-you_ to the Force. At least Mace and Yoda would only be able to _feel_ his embarrassment, and not _see_ it as well. 

“The details of this mission are _very_ confidential, Obi-wan.” Now that they were alone, Mace dropped the formalities that were expected in front of the full council. “Not even the Chancellor has been informed.”

Obi-wan raised his eyebrows and took his chin with his hand. 

“Mace, you have to understand my reservations about this assignment. You are asking me to do something that is, at best, morally dubious - “

The Korun Jedi Master held up a hand, his forehead wrinkling in irritation. Obi-wan didn't remember the last time he had seen the man without the weight of worlds on his shoulders. 

“This is not the time for this discussion, Obi-wan. Please.”

The younger Jedi stiffened but held his tongue. 

“Fine, then - the details of the mission. Please.” Obi-wan’s patience, his control was wearing thin. The sooner this was over, the better. He needed to be alone.

Mace raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t press further. “Where did we leave off?”

“Obi-wan’s death, I believe,” added Yoda.

The red-head grimaced. _How charming_.

“Yes - after we’ve retrieved your body, you’ll be brought into a secure area of the healer’s wing and attended to by medical droids. There you will undergo the physical transformation into Rako Hardeen.”

Something niggled at the young Jedi’s mind. 

“Mace,” he began warily, “what do you mean by physical transformation? I’m assuming I would just be going undercover.”

Windu’s mouth set in a firm line. “We’ve been able to get a hold of some nanotechnology that Republic scientists have been working on.”

Obi-wan’s breath stopped short. 

_Physical transformation. Nanotechnology._

_“_ Mace, are you talking about nanogene droids?” 

The dark-skinned Jedi merely nodded in response. 

“We have the genetic material necessary for the procedure. You will -” Mace swallowed, “be injected with it. After that, we will need to get a voice sample from Hardeen, which shouldn’t be too difficult. Then you’ll presumably be caught and sent to jail.”

So not only was he to go undercover, but was to actually _transform_ into his own killer, into someone who was a killer. How much of Obi-wan would be left after the transformation? Was it purely physical or would his mind be affected? His connection to the Force? He knew this technology was very experimental and very _expensive. How have we even been able to procure such a thing?_

The young Jedi tasted bile in the back of his throat. 

“And then?” He barely managed the question. 

Windu crossed his arms and took a step back, his gaze drifting to the smaller Jedi Master at his side. Obi-wan _almost_ thought Mace looked apologetic. 

“The less information you have now, the better, Master Kenobi. In case...something goes wrong.”

Obi-wan dropped both his arms in frustration. He began to pace, the hollow _tap-tap_ of his boot heels echoing in the empty chamber. 

“So, if I may summarize - you want me to fake my own death, subject myself to a _very_ experimental treatment, inhabit a criminal’s body, and then be thrown in jail?” He could hear his voice rising, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Obi-wan rounded on the two Jedi, flinging his arm outwards. “And of course, I cannot possibly know what I am to do once I’m actually _in_ prison. Except to somehow learn of a supposed plot to kidnap the Chancellor.” 

Mace and Yoda exchanged wary looks. 

Obi-wan was grateful for the dim lighting of the chamber. He couldn’t imagine the look on his face right now was very becoming for a Jedi master. “Why don’t we just cancel the event or heighten our security?”

This time Mace did let out a heavy sigh. Obi-wan knew he was being uncharacteristically stubborn about this, but he felt he deserved _some_ answers. The Korun man walked over to the younger Jedi and put a hand on his shoulder. Obi-wan immediately stiffened under Mace’s touch.

“Obi-wan.” Windu’s deep voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “This goes beyond a kidnapping plot. The situation with the war is escalating.” He leaned in closer, speaking with a low urgency. “You read the reports about the Krell incident. You yourself witnessed what happened on Zygerria.”

Obi-wan felt his stomach churn at the mention of that Force-forsaken planet.

“The forces of darkness are growing. This war cannot go on forever. We need to intensify our efforts outside of strict military operations. If we can find an expedient way to get to Dooku, we may even be able to track him directly to this Sith Lord who is supposedly operating at the center of the Republic. And we need to keep the Republic both stable and on our side. We wouldn’t asking this of you if we didn’t feel it was absolutely necessary.”

Obi-wan didn’t like it. This was going far beyond any standard undercover mission.

“And why can’t we just hire a changeling to spy for us?” He knew the answer already, but some part of him had to keep fighting, despite knowing his words would fall on deaf ears. He was desperate.

Yoda knew this, too. He swung his gimmer stick back and forth in annoyance. “Know why, you already do, Obi-wan. Waste time, we do, with these arguments.”

He sighed, but Obi-wan knew better than to pursue _that_ particular line of inquiry. “But if I may ask, Masters - why me? Despite all your warnings to the contrary, you know what kind of effect this will have on Anakin.” He knew he was skirting close to being _too_ honest about the depth of his attachment to his former Padawan, but he didn’t care. He readied himself for the rebuke.

It surprisingly did not come. “Obi-wan, we’re choosing you because, quite simply, you are one of our best,” Mace said. “And you have the knowledge of Mando’an culture to be a plausible Rako Hardeen.”

It made sense. Hardeen was a Concordian - an exiled warrior from the now-pacifist Mandalore. 

_Yes, I know all about them._ His thoughts drifted to Satine and their last meeting on the planet. Something growled within him. _If I’m to be a Concordian, then I must act...accordingly._ And that meant with utter ruthlessness. He was disgusted at the thought.He had seen Pre Viszla shoot a man dead for failing to capture him on his last mission. Concordians were known to execute their own merely for cheating at a board game. Obi-wan’s temper flared. 

“How in the blazes do you expect me to adhere to the Jedi Code while maintaining the facade of a cold-blooded killer? Do you have any idea what you are asking me to do? I will not be taken seriously as this man if I am not willing to do - ” he clenched his fists “ - certain things.” Obi-wan was legitimately angry now. It was one thing to go undercover, but to be asked to become, in every sense of the word, a man whose moral code was the exact opposite of his, of the Jedi? What was the Council thinking?

And yet...there was a terrible, traitorous part of him that was _elated_ at the prospect of wreaking havoc and destruction on these _criminals._

He felt his very shaky shielding waver. From the looks Yoda and Mace were giving him, they could feel it as well. 

Obi-wan fiddled with the data chip in his pocket. _Maybe a visit to the archives would be be prudent, after all._ He knew he would hate himself for indulging in the idea later. It would mean he could no longer deny -

“Obi-wan.” It was Mace, his voice soft yet again. “We ask you to do this because we know that you’ll make it work. Your alignment to the Light has never been in question - you have the flexibility and the ingenuity to pull this off. And have no doubt - this mission is of the _upmost_ importance.”

Yoda walked over to join them and extended his short arm. “Help us, you must, Obi-wan.”

Kenobi sighed, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. 

A perverse part of him wanted to rail more - argue with Mace and Yoda all night until his voice was rendered hoarse from overuse or until he _was_ kicked out of the Jedi Order. It was a terrible plan, it went against all their ideals. The Council was, bit by bit, sacrificing its morals for the Republic, chipping away at their legitimacy -

The room came into focus with terrifying clarity.

 

* * *

 

_“Master Yoda?”_

_It had only been a few days since the Battle of Geonosis._

_Obi-wan walked into the dimly lit quarters, hoping he wasn’t overstepping his bounds. Not only was he still only a Jedi Knight, but he had been the sole catalyst for a battle that had taken so many lives, so many of his fellow Jedi._

_“Guilt, you should not feel, Knight Kenobi.” The small Jedi Master’s voice echoed in the sparse chamber. “If not uncovered, Dooku’s plans were, the loss of life, perhaps greater, it may have been.”_

_Yoda motioned to the meditation cushion next to his, finally turning his eyes to meet Obi-wan’s. The venerated Master gave Obi-wan a small smile._

_“Sit, young Obi-wan.”_

_The younger Jedi fought the blush that was creeping up his neck. Of course Yoda would be able to sense his emotions. He was right, of course. The massacre at Geonosis was no more his fault than any one else’s. Still though, if he had only avoided capture…_

_Obi-wan sat gingerly on the meditation cushion, keeping himself to the edge of the seat, wary of becoming too comfortable._

_“Questions, you have, Knight Kenobi.”_

_The ginger-haired man looked down at his boots._

_“Yes, Master Yoda.”_

_Expectant silence filled the room. Obi-wan fought the urge to bolt out of the chamber, clearing his throat to cover his discomfort._

_“This may seem…out of place considering our current predicament. But - when I was held captive on Geonosis, I had the opportunity to…converse with Count Dooku.”_

_That was one way of putting the circumstances of his capture, at least. Obi-wan knew he had conveniently left out the parts where he had been suspended in stasis without food or water for upwards of two days, or had suffered from electric shocks that made sleep all but impossible, or had his memories rifled through ruthlessly by the older Jedi-turned-Sith. He knew such matters would not shock Yoda, but he felt that to bring it up would only show…a lack of propriety. Dooku *had been* Yoda’s Padawan - one of his best, if the rumors were true. And Obi-wan had seen first-hand the effects that having one’s student turn to the Dark Side could have on a Jedi Master. He did not want to cause the Grandmaster any undue stress._

_Yoda said nothing, taking in a deep breath and sighing it out. It was a behavior that Obi-wan had come to realize was a habit of the Jedi Master - one born of years of meditative techniques._

_Techniques commonly used to release emotions into the Force_

_“Correct you are, Obi-wan. Dooku’s defection, a personal matter, remains.” The wizened troll chuckled softly. “Still learning from the Force, even am I.”_

_Obi-wan said nothing in response._

_“Know, you do, the reason Dooku left the Order?”_

_Yoda’s voice was even, betraying none of the supposed emotion the Master had just confessed to still feeling about the matter._

_Obi-wan bit his lip._

_“Tell you nothing, Qui-gon did?”_

_The young Jedi closed his eyes, ignoring the ache in his upper thigh where Dooku’s lightsaber had impaled him not more than a few days ago. No, Qui-gon had not shared much at all about his former Master. In fact, there was very little that Qui-gon had mentioned aside from the mere fact of his existence. Only that he was a good man, if a hard teacher. In their short interaction, Dooku himself had shared more about the nature of their relationship than Qui-gon ever had._

_“Dooku was an idealist,” began Yoda._

_Obi-wan held his breath, not wanting to create even the smallest interruption, anticipation prickling on his skin._

_“A highly talented student was he. Powerful in the Force.”Yoda turned to face Obi-wan. “But questioned the Order, he did.”_

_“In some ways, like your Master, Dooku was.A maverick. Hard and ambitious, but duty - hmm - yes duty. Important, it was to him. Not content, was Dooku, with the training methods of the Jedi. Felt we were stagnating. That the Council - lost our way, we had.Tainted the Jedi Order was, by a corrupt Republic, he said.”_

_Obi-wan grimaced. Dooku had more or less told him the exact same thing on Geonosis._

_“Driven by ambition, power, Dooku was, and remains. His fall to the dark side, Qui-gon’s death, only hastened.”_

_The room seemed as if it had become darker. The Force felt oppressive. Obi-wan was suddenly acutely aware of the power that Yoda held. Of the awful promise that strength had if the old Master would ever be remotely tempted by the dark._

_“To purify the Jedi Order, the Republic - to return us to an ideal state. Dooku’s goal, I believe this may be. His service to this Sith Lord - temporary this is.”_

_Obi-wan found Yoda’s penetrating gaze matching his own._

_“For Dooku, lineage - important it is. From nobility, he comes. His title, he returned to, when all else he lost faith in.”_

_Yoda pointed at Obi-wan. “You, Obi-wan. The last of Dooku’s lineage you are. Student of his student. That relationship - important it will remain. Caution, you must have.”_

_Obi-wan’s eyes widened._

_“And now, young Obi-wan - meditate you must.” The old Master gave him a small smile. “As will I.”_

 

* * *

 

_Dear Force, I sound exactly like Dooku._

He slammed down on his shields, not wanting to think of the man who had been looming in the back of his consciousness ever since Zygerria.

Suddenly there were no more arguments to be made, no more games to play with the Council. The decision was stupidly easy.

“Fine. Master Windu, Master Yoda - I accept. Please send me the remainder of the details when they are ready.” 

Mace couldn’t hold back a look of sheer bewilderment. 

“Obi-wan, I understand if you - “

The young Jedi held up a shaky hand. _I need to get out of here._

“Please, Mace.” He could feel sweat beginning to drip down his back. “You’ve made your point and I accept the terms of this mission. And I apologize for my earlier behavior. I just - “ he exhaled, trying his best to just _let go._ “This has been a difficult session and I am suddenly finding myself quite exhausted. There are certain aspects of this situation I need to...meditate on.”

Yoda said nothing, but visited the young Jedi with one of his penetrating stares. Obi-wan felt the Force move around him, not intrusive, but curious. After a minute, Yoda merely grunted and looked down at the floor. 

“Understandable this is, Obi-wan. Dark times, do we find ourselves in. Difficult decisions, we must all make.” 

The small Jedi Master placed a clawed hand on Obi-wan’s arm. 

“Your arguments - well made were they. News of your death, we will work to keep from spreading too far.”

Obi-wan’s eyes widened imperceptibly.

“But for now, there is only the war.” Yoda’s voice was uncharacteristically dark. Obi-wan felt the absence of the Grand Master’s touch as he walked slowly to his meditation cushion. “Rest you should, Master Kenobi.” 

Obi-wan simply gave Mace a nod, exiting the room.

The Council doors closed and Obi-wan moved quickly to the turbolift, his mind racing. _I will not become *that* man._ _I am not that man._ He slammed his hand on the turbolift button. 

A deep voice rang in his mind. A terrible memory. _“Well done, Master Kenobi.”_

He rubbed his eyes. 

_I am a Jedi._ _I serve the Force. The Light._

He _needed_ to prove to himself that he wasn’t slowly turning into… _him._ That he wasn’t rotting from the inside. That Zygerria was just one of Dooku’s terrible tricks. 

_~Even if it means betraying the trust of Anakin?~_

Obi-wan ignored the voice and practically ran to his chambers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 preview: Obi-wan goes to the library


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG guys...I'm finally updating. My life got crazy and well...you know.  
> Good news: I have the next 7 chapters drafted in full.  
> Bad news: Dooku will make an appearance but you're going to have to be a little patient ;) I PROMISE he and Obi-wan will talk, and more than once. I have some other backstory I need to fill in here :)

The Jedi Temple was a mammoth structure, lying within the very heart of Coruscant. Its five spires towered over the city, an imposing landmark to the other denizens of the capital, who found the building to be equally mysterious and formidable. The Jedi, after all, were reclusive in their strange religion, their extraordinary powers, and the average Coruscanti never quite knew what to make of the Order that was one day the protector of the Republic, the next day a threat - depending on what the Holonet had to say. 

Inside the Temple, the vaulted ceilings stretched high above its occupants, the cavernous hallways dwarfing even the most powerful sentient. It had been said that they were designed to remind those who roamed the corridors of their insignificance in comparison to the Force that they served. Tall, marble pillars held up opposite sides of a series of archways that cascaded into an infinite pattern on both ends of the passageway. It was early, and sunlight streamed in through the large windows on the far wall, causing the pillars to cast long, imposing shadows on the tiled floor. If he had less of an affinity for the Jedi, if he were feeling just a touch more cynical that morning - he would have described the criss-crossing umbra as reminiscent of an old-fashioned prison cell. 

It was a bright, clear morning. _Again_ , he grumbled internally. Obi-wan hadn't bothered to check in with the Coruscant weather controllers since he had arrived back in the city. He had hoped that his return to the capital would coincide with the monthly-mandated rainfall, but it seemed he had timed his arrival with precise imperfection, having missed it by a mere two days. The weather controllers usually allowed a few clouds to gather in the days leading up to the storms, and Obi-wan would have preferred the gloom to the unrelenting rays of sun. The rays were too much like Anakin, whose radiant presence seemed to be with him even now, baring down on him, exposing his true purpose -

He hastened his steps. _Let’s just get this over with._ It was still early, and the Temple was only stirring, not quite at the point where the rituals of the day-to-day activities that made up Jedi life would begin.

Obi-wan sighed. He _should_ be on his meditation mat right now, trying to come to peace with the mission that he was assigned to last night, the mission which he had _agreed_ to. But even before the disastrous meeting with the Council, any kind of peace had only been achievable through -

Could he call it an alternative method? The pain, the rush of adrenaline, the _focus..._  

Whatever it was, it was not a strategy that was feasible in the long term.

_It’s only research - and besides, I *do* need to consult a few other resources for my…transformation._

Obi-wan ignored the pounding in his head that seemed to be growing more intense by the minute. He had been plagued by terrible headaches the past week and last night’s…meditation, so to speak, had left him in a less than ideal state - if waking up as if his entire body was on fire could be considered "less than ideal."

He shook his head, rounding the corner that led to his destination. There was little to be gained by ruminating on  _that_.

Obi-wan slowed his steps, hesitating just for a moment before he entered the main room of the Jedi Archives. Like the corridors of the Temple, this, too, was an expansive chamber, one of four that made up the entirety of the archives. He silently thanked the original Jedi architects for their foresight to _not_ include overly large windows in this room. Obi-wan had had enough brightness for one day. 

The room hummed with the quiet electronic output of various data pads, books, and holocrons that made up the majority of the library’s resources in the second archive. The first and third archives were next door, and boasted a wide array of resources, including a section that held a small mountain of flimsiplasts - originals of documents that had either not been digitized yet or that were kept for posterity and scholarship. Beyond that lay the infamous fourth chamber - where highly sensitive, highly restricted materials were held. 

In truth, it was not looked on well for members of the Council (and they _were_ the only ones allowed access), to visit or request information from that fourth section unless absolutely necessary. The last, terrible war between the Jedi and the Sith had resulted in the Ruusan Reformation, a series of major overhauls in both Republic and Jedi governance, all aimed at one goal: eliminating the resurgence of the Sith at any cost.  Before, Jedi had been allowed, even encouraged to study certain aspects of the Dark Side in order to learn more about the Sith, in order to gain insight into their enemy. Padawans could be taken at any age, and attachments, while not encouraged, were not forbidden in the same way they were now strictly excised from a Jedi's life. 

It had been an awful, costly war with galactic ramifications. The Jedi Order coalesced around Coruscant, giving up their military ranks (temporarily, as it had turned out) for greater oversight by the Republic. Force-sensitives were taken as babies, to avoid any kind of exposure, any possible tainting by the dark side, by the Sith. And any research, and hint of interest in the study of the dark side, while not  _strictly_ forbidden, was -

Well, it wasn't exactly encouraged.

_Extraordinary circumstances,_ Madame Nu had told him when he had first taken his seat on the Council, her sentiment echoed by Yoda. 

_Yes, well - considering the gravity with which the Council is treating this whole situation - illustrated,_ he thought wryly,  _by the lengths they seem to be willing to go to stop this whole kidnapping plot before it begins_ … 

He could feel his shielding begin to waver again. 

_No, best not to dwell on that._

He walked further into the Archive, past shelves after shelves of holobooks, each emitting a soft blue light, bathing the entirety of the room in a somewhat unearthly glow. It was pleasant, and under different circumstances would be considered calming. The low lighting, he knew from experience, helped to support concentration (and the occasional unintended nap from Padawans who had perhaps begun their research at a tardy hour). The room boasted two levels, and the seemingly endless lines of books towered far beyond him, far above him. It was as if time and history itself were surrounding and enveloping him. 

Obi-wan came to a halt when he reached the central data terminal, taking note of the exact chair he had sat in when he had come here seeking knowledge of the lost planet Kamino years ago. On either side of him, in front of each shelf, stood a line of bronzium busts, figures known as the “Lost Twenty” - the only Jedi Masters to ever leave the Order.

He always had thought it was a bit odd to be celebrating those who left the Order in the middle of the Archives. Obi-wan understood that they were there as a warning as well as a part of their history, but he never quite felt comfortable with the decision to keep them in such a central location. 

The young Jedi Master felt the gazes of all twenty upon him. It was as if they knew his secrets, his darkest thoughts. Their expressions seemed to vacillate between welcoming and accusatory, a bizarre variation of the drama and comedy theater masks he had learned about as a Padawan. Obi-wan averted his gaze, suddenly finding great interest in the astronomical charts painted on the ceiling. He knew of one visage that was all too familiar, too recent. He did not think he could look upon the face of that man, the man who was the reason he was here in the first place. 

Panic suddenly gripped him.

_I should leave. It is ridiculous to even pursue this line of inquiry._

There was still time - time before he did something that he might not be able to undo. But Obi-wan had the weakness of a scholar, a thirst for information that had once manifested itself in a rather awkward standoff with a group of rabid Geonosian zombies, a brain-controlling worm, and the bottom of Anakin's boot. 

He was still upset with Anakin for stomping on that worm.

Obi-wan clamped his jaw. 

_This is research - nothing more. Whatever information Dooku wants me to have could be an important clue - to the man’s motivations, possibly to his weaknesses. I am doing this for the Jedi Order._

Doubt crept through his mind. He should tell Master Yoda or Mace, or even Anakin what he was doing -

“Master Kenobi?” a brittle female voice called out.

“Ah, Madame Nu. A pleasure to see you again.” He adopted his best smile, knowing full well the woman still filed him away under the heading of “troublemaker” after the whole Kamino incident.

She gave him an appraising look, as if she was trying to discern any ulterior motives, any promise of mischief. He may have been known as “The Negotiator” throughout the galaxy, but that particular sobriquet held no weight here.

Apparently satisfied that his motives for visiting the Archives were pure, she crossed her arms across her chest, peering at him over the top of her half-rimmed, silver reading glasses. “Hm. Here to discover more missing planets?” she asked with no small hint of accusation.

Maybe not satisfied. _I will never be forgiven for that, will I?_

“No, not at all Madame Nu. I am merely here to access a few volumes in preparation for an upcoming mission.” Obi-wan handed her a data pad that held the reference numbers and titles of the books he needed.

“Hmmm. _History of Concord Dawn,_ a manuscript on the - oh my - execution methods of the Concordians…military battles of the Felucians, and a treatise by none other than Master Poof himself.” She stopped to give the Jedi an calculating look, a small frown forming on her face. “Another one of your less traditional missions, then?” She held up a hand, interrupting herself. “No, I know better than to interfere with Council business. As always, I will keep your confidence in these matters.”

Kenobi gave the woman a tight-lipped smile and a slight bow. “Your discretion is always appreciated, Madame Nu.”

Obi-wan waited a moment before pulling a flimsiplast out from his robe. “There is one more matter…of some delicacy. If you don’t mind.” He handed the woman the information and held his breath. 

A minute passed. It might have well have been an hour. His pulse quickened, his recent... _expressions_ of focus throbbing in tandem.

The librarian gave the writing a long, hard look. “This is highly restricted material, Master Kenobi. You do remember the first thing I told you about this when you took a seat on the Council.”

The room flashed crimson. _Yes, yes, yes - ‘extraordinary circumstances.’ But as a Council Member and one who is about to undertake a secret mission to save the Republic, there should be no reason that I shouldn’t have access to this material!_

The terrible expectations, the demands of the Council suddenly weighed heavy on his chest, threatening to pull him down below the very floor he stood on. But there was something else. Something small, something nearly insignificant.  A part of him - a traitorous corner of his mind - _needed_ this information, yearned for it. His body nearly trembled with want, with this unnatural… _desire_ to learn what secrets Dooku had left for him. 

Obi-wan opened his arms in a sign of peace.

“I am aware of this. However, there is material in this volume that is of...an urgent matter. I would not be asking if this truly weren’t an _extraordinary circumstance._ ” He added weight to the last words and perhaps just a touch of Force influence. Something purred within him. 

The elderly Jedi looked down at the flimsi again. “Have Masters Yoda and Windu been informed about this?”

Obi-wan silently cursed the Ruusan Reformation. _The Jedi really must consider their training methods subpar if they believe the slightest exposure to Sith writings would cause one to immediately fall to darkness._

"Of course, Madame Nu." The lie fell easily from his mouth. "I don't wish to be an inconvenience, but suffice to say that this upcoming mission is of vital importance to the war effort and the information in that book," he pointed to the flimsi, "could prove to be a turning point in this conflict," he said gravely.

The librarian let out a small huff. "Master Kenobi, one could only hope for that to be the case." She fell silent, her eyes suddenly far away, as if she were in another time altogether. "It's strange, though. I remember this reference number." She met the younger Jedi's eyes. "Master Dooku was the last person to access this volume," she said quietly, the grief of a long-lost friendship barely visible on her face. "Perhaps it is the will of the Force..." the words petered out into silence. 

Obi-wan bit the inside of his mouth, drawing blood.  _Of course it was Dooku. Who else could it possibly have been?_

Was it the will of the Force? He shuddered to even entertain the thought that what Dooku had done, what  _he_ had done - could possibly be the will of the Force. Obi-wan had been taught to follow that Force, to trust that it would always eventually lead him to the Light, to the correct path, to  _good_.

_"The Force seeks balance, Obi-wan,"_ he heard the words of his former Master in his mind. Qui-gon had studied the Living Force, the flowing river which bent this way and that, its goal never quite visible. He had believed that ultimately the river sought the light, and that no matter how far matters seemed to deviate, the force would eventually right itself. Of course, Qui-gon had always seemed a bit... _impulsive_ to Obi-wan, but his former Master had had a steadfast belief in the ultimate _goodness_ of the Force, probably more so than some of the Jedi Order itself.  


Now, though...Obi-wan was beginning to wonder what  _balance_ truly meant.   

“Master Kenobi?” 

Obi-wan shifted in his robes, giving the librarian a light smile.

“Sincere apologies, Madame Nu. I was lost in my thoughts for a minute.”

“Yes. You look as if you could use some more sleep instead of sulking around the Archives with _this_ ,” she held up the flimsiplast, “type of material,” she scolded, gazing pointedly at the exposed flesh on his left arm. 

A veritable patchwork of barely-healed cuts had caught the interest of the librarian. Obi-wan quickly lowered the sleeve of his robe.

“An unfortunate meeting of the ground and a still healing wound, I’m afraid. Leave it to Anakin in those sparing sessions…” he said lightly. 

The woman frowned. Jocasta Nu had no love lost for Anakin Skywalker. “Hmm! Sparring session indeed,” she grumbled partially under her breath. “Well then, Master Kenobi. Despite your tendency to bring a certain amount of… _trouble_ with you wherever you go - “

Obi-wan opened his mouth to protest.

“ - your reputation is beyond reproach.”

The young Jedi felt a wave of relief wash over him. 

“If you would follow me, I will let you into the archive. Remember - “ she held up a finger, “ - you may not take this material out of the room and you absolutely cannot copy anything.”

These were all rules he knew already. And they were all rules that he had every intention of breaking once inside the room itself. 

“Yes, of course. Lead the way.”

_I will see why Dooku was so insistent that I find this volume and after I gather whatever evidence I can, I will present it in front of the Jedi Council._

The door to the fourth archive  _whooshed_ open. 

_After I come back from the dead, that is._

 

* * *

 

“5071b…5071b…” he traced his hand along the shelves looking for the correct volume. 

Titles of books jumped out of him as he searched, some in a language he had never even seen before. It was not his _first_ time in this archive, but it was certainly the first time he had paid so much attention to _what_ exactly it held. 

His subconscious pricked at him. 

“There.”

Obi-wan lifted his hand and hesitated. There would be no going back after this, no more room for denial. The very act of opening this book was to award Dooku the opening salvo in what he feared was going to become a drawn out confrontation of wills. 

On the other hand, he needed a way to cover his signature while undercover, seeing as all the usual and _unusual_ methods were no longer working for him. 

_You've come this far, Kenobi..._

The Jedi took in a large breath, holding it at the top of his inhalation -

_ 1...2...3...4...5... _

\- and blew it all out in one chaotic exhalation. 

Obi-wan raised his arm, took the volume off the shelf, and opened it. 

Almost immediately, he was hit with a strange sensation of elation, of maniacal _glee_ that rose from his lower abdomen. Which part of the Force this was, he couldn't say, but it urged him forward, faster and faster, until his mind was racing ahead of his fingers. 

He searched frantically for the section on shielding. 

_There._ _Just like he said._

If nothing else, the Count was a man of his word.

Obi-wan slipped a small data transfer wire into the book’s port. According to Anakin, the technology _should_ be untraceable. It was a calculated risk, but if there was one thing Obi-wan had unshakeable faith in, it was his former Padawan’s talents with dubious technology. 

Luckily, Anakin had asked few questions about the reason for his need for such a device. He had been far more excited to show Obi-wan the improvised piece of technology than to to press too much into _why_ he would need such a thing.

He looked down at the reader - _3% to completion._

Anakin had told him that the transfer would be a bit slow, due to the security measures he had put in place. Hopefully Madame Nu wouldn’t feel the need to bother him in the meantime. 

Obi-wan ran a hand through his hair and sighed. With nothing better to do, he sat himself down in the corner, choosing a chair furthest from the entrance to the room. Guilt clung to him, weighing down his robes, slowing time down to a crawl. He stole a glance at the reader once more. 

_ 3.5% to completion. _

He could either sit here and torture himself or actually try to learn something while he was stuck here. Decision made, Obi-wan opened the databook and began to read, ignoring the shadow of a satisfied chuckle that was resonating through the Force.

  

* * *

 

“Master Kenobi?”

He nearly leapt a foot in the air, his hands scrambling, making discreet movements to change the page to _any other section_ while doing his best to hide the download device. 

_87% to completion._

“Ah, yes. Madame Nu. Forgive me, I was rather engrossed in my research.”

The woman let out a noncommittal noise of disapproval. 

“Yes, well, it’s been nearly an hour. I am required to check in on you periodically, for security reasons, you understand.” She gave him a soft smile. "Do you require any assistance?"

_Please go away_ , he pleaded.

“No, no. Thank you. I should be finished soon.” 

“Well, when you’re ready, your other volumes will be ready for pickup in the main room.”

“Many thanks, Madame Nu.”

The Jedi breathed a sigh of relief as he was left in solitude once again. The reading had been informative. And it explained…well, _a lot._

_But why is Dooku even trusting me with this information? I now know *how* he has been able to infiltrate areas heavily guarded by Jedi. Doesn’t he know that this information will be passed along to the Council?_

But something ominous was already coalescing in the back of his mind, something that chilled the air around him.

_~Will you pass it on?~_

He squeezed his eyes shut, leaning his head back on the head of the chair. He truly did not have time for these types of ruminations.

Obi-wan opened his eyes and glanced down, noticing the section he had turned to in his blind panic when Madame Nu had entered the room. 

 

** _The Four Sages of Dwartii_ **

 

_Now buried in obscurity, the four sages of Dwartii were once influential philosophers and lawgivers in the nascent years of the Old Republic, hailing from the Nouanese system. These four sisters (called so not for their family relations, but their blood-pact) ruled the Nouanese system and by extension, had considerable influence on the philosophical and legal foundations of the Old Republic government._

_It was rumored that these sisters were not mere law makers and philosophers, but that they too, were Force-sensitive and practiced the teachings of Bogan._  

**_Sistros:_** _The most powerful of the sisters, the politician Sistros is often depicted in a long-sleeved cloak, hood over her head. She believed that the common human (for Sistros had no use for the other races) had little intelligence on their own, and that as humans grew in number, the overall intelligence of that group would decrease. She believed such beings to be easy to manipulate - their passions easily riled, their attention crude and short. Sistros advocated taking advantage of this condition, using it to gain popularity in the masses for one's own benefit and ambition._

_“The naive men are easily fooled.”_

 

**_Braata_** _: The scholar, depicted in a helmet, head resting on top of a long staff. The image of Braata may seem at odds with her role as the scholar, but Braata saw knowledge as a means to power and a way of consolidating power. This included study of the Bogan arts._

_"Through careful accumulation, withholding, and dissemination of knowledge, one may erode the very idea of a shared reality, spreading apathy and confusion among a public that learns to distrust its corrupt leaders and institutions. This ensures the proper functioning of a central government and leader."_

 

**_Yanjon_** _: Little is known of the law-maker Yanjon._

_“Those who devote themselves to Ashla - they fall into the trap of water, for they take the shape of whatever vessel they are in. Acolytes of Ashla accept the status quo, do not change unless forced to. Take heed of this, my friend - for Bogan bends history to its will, and will create the vessels for the water of Ashla, so it will not know it is trapped until it is too late.”_

 

**_Faya:_** _The warrior. Reported to be depicted resting on large sword. She embodies stength, the individual._

_"For Bogan may use others to achieve its goals, it must not rely on anyone beyond the wielder. (Such is the first and only rule.)"_

 

It was fascinating reading, information which, really, ought to be common knowledge among the at least the Masters on the Jedi Council. Once again, the specter of Ruusan, of the last conflict of the Jedi and the Sith, loomed like a dark shadow over Coruscant. 

Obi-wan was beginning to question who had  _really_ won that war. The very foundations upon which he had built his ideas of the Code, of history, of what was  _right_...

It had been so easy before. So easy, with the Sith only a memory, a bad dream, to believe that the status quo would last forever.

Obi-wan sighed and ran a hand over his face, reading the words of the elusive Yanjon once more.

_“For Bogan bends history to its will, and will create the vessels for the water of Ashla, so it will not know it is trapped until it is too late.”_

He shuddered. Something about this was familiar, nipping at the edges of Obi-wan’s mind. 

_A vision. A man in a dark cloak. A statue._

He felt a small vibration.

_100% - complete._

There would be time to contemplate this all later,now that he had a copy of the book. With a shaky hand, he replaced the volume on the shelf and hid the data recorder deep within his robes. 

_It’s done._

He thought he’d feel…something. Guilt, anger, sadness. 

But the only thing that Obi-wan experienced was the first true calm he had experienced in weeks. A clear plane where he could see in all directions. 

He didn’t notice how it also covered the light he held inside himself. 

 

* * *

 

It was the middle of the afternoon by the time Obi-wan emerged from the Archives, and the Temple was bustling with activity. 

He barely avoided colliding with a group of overzealous Padawans who were excitedly sprinting towards the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

“Really!” He exclaimed harshly, “Please watch where you are going!” 

Obi-wan saw the faces of the students fall in embarrassment and shame, their shoulders hunched as they slowly continued their path to whatever event was happening in the room. 

The Jedi stood still in the middle of the hall for a full minute, pinching the bridge of his nose, holding his other arm tight against his abdomen, trying to regain what little composure he felt he had available to him. The well of his usually limitless patience had run dry and his emotions were practically  _buzzing_ around him, like a swarm of angry insects. 

He swiftly made a sharp turn, heading down a smaller, rarely-used corridor. It would take him an extra ten minutes to get back to his rooms but at least he could be  _left alone._

Less than minute later, his comm went off, and Obi-wan let out a string of curses that would have made a Hutt blush. He considered just turning off the comm, but thought better of it. Perhaps he was being summoned to the Council to answer for his strange behavior, or his sudden research interests. His stomach clenched.

_And to think you could get away with this. It only proves that the Council is more capable than you believe._

“Kenobi here."

“Obi-wan?” a familiar voice rang.

He could have collapsed from relief. _Anakin._

The Jedi slumped against the nearby wall, still holding his wrist to his mouth, his heart beating just a bit faster than it had been a minute ago. “Yes, Anakin, what is it?” 

“Those talks on Mandalore - between the Separatists and the Republic. They’ve broken down. There was…some kind of incident. Dooku’s men. Ahsoka's chasing…I don't know - chasing someone down right now. I didn't get the whole message.”

Obi-wan slid down the wall, now squatting in the empty hallway. He leaned his head back against the cool marble, closing his eyes, trying to ignore the way everything was spinning around him...

He should have been there. 

Yes, Ahsoka was certainly capable of handling a diplomatic mission, but this was…different. He only hoped that…

“Uhhh...from all reports, Duchess Satine is safe. The Council’s gonna want to see you soon, though.”

_Of course._

“Fine, tell them I’ll be there within the half-hour. Kenobi out.”

Obi-wan terminated the communication abruptly, allowing himself to now sit fully on the floor. Shades of blue, red, and purple all danced against the dark of his closed eyes.

He clenched a fist. Yes, Satine was safe, and that was good. But there was no way to hear that firsthand, from the source. He had been effectively barred from any further missions to Mandalore after the incident with the _Coronet_ and subsequent Senate investigation. 

Because the Council felt his judgement was clouded in regards to a certain Duchess. 

It still ate at him. He knew the other Jedi, Ahsoka included, could all defend the Duchess (and that Satine was, despite her protests, usually more than capable of taking care of herself). And he knew the Council was right - his judgement _was_ clouded when it came to Satine. 

But to be barred from any communication, any missions, any way of seeing the woman… 

He felt the Force turn frigid around him. Words, instructions - those he had read, had smuggled out of the Archive, came to mind, unbidden. 

"... _pulling_ _ it inwards...coalescing..." _

He turned the anger and resentment into a crystalline jewel. It reminded him of one of Satine’s hair pieces. 

_I don’t want to let that go._

He kept it within himself. It shimmered in blue and red.

He felt his connection to the Force deepen, strengthen,  his shields reinforce in a new way, as if he was erecting some new kind of boundary around himself, only visible to him. 

Obi-wan’s lip curved upwards in a half-smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Obi-wan...
> 
> Chapter 5 preview: Ahsoka comes back from Carlac. The trio gets sent on a very odd investigation on Coruscant that ends in tragedy.
> 
> (And now that I'm not running out the door while posting this...) Guys, I know the Ruusan Reformation is EU stuff but DAMN does it have some massive ramifications for the Jedi and it really helps put their position in perspective by the time we get to the Prequels. I hope this gets retconned into current canon because it's fascinating. 
> 
> Thank you all again for reading! Feel free to stop by and leave comments here or at my tumblr @legobiwan


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, a quick update! 
> 
> This story has been an interesting beast to try and tame. Not going to lie, things will be a little slow but I promise I won't rehash the entire Deception arc in the next few chapters - only the parts that are important :) There will be plenty of original material in here, as well.
> 
> Expect much quicker updates until chapter 11ish. (Barring any real-life craziness, of course.)

“And after your lightsabers were returned to you, Padawan Tano?”

Ahsoka shifted uneasily in the center of the Jedi Council room.

“I managed to escape custody and return with Senator Bonteri and Artoo to the shuttle. We immediately set course for Coruscant but Lu - “

She looked down at the floor and blushed. “ - I mean, Senator Bonteri went to an escape pod and flew off to an unknown destination.” 

Ahsoka chanced a glance around the Council chambers. The Jedi Masters spoke quietly to each other, just under her threshold of audibility.

They must have been using some form of Force shielding - her hearing was normally quite sensitive, much more so than most of the other species who sat on the Council. 

Unable to discern anything from the murmuring around her, Ahsoka retreated into her own thoughts. She wished Anakin was here with her. They were almost always on missions together, and because of this, she rarely had to appear in front of the Council on her own. But as her apprenticeship had worn on, Anakin had been forced to let go as the front lines of battle demanded more and more of his time, and Ahsoka had found herself on a steadily increasing number of solo missions. And...as much as she enjoyed working with Anakin, as much as she had relied on him for so many years...Ahsoka did crave the independence and responsibilities that came with her advanced Padawan status. To have the chance to prove herself, to come even closer to being a full Jedi Knight. 

What she didn't enjoy was having to face the full judgement of the Council on her own, without Anakin there to encourage her, or more often than not, distract the Council with his own unorthodox behavior.

There was a stirring of robes as she sensed the attention of the older Jedi redirect to her. 

“And Senator Bonteri gave no indication as to where he would be headed?” Mace Windu inquired.

Ahsoka shook her head. “No. He only said that he felt he could do more good from the outside. I have no idea where he might go now that he’s wanted by the Separatists.”

Master Windu only frowned in response. Ahsoka often wondered when the last time was the man smiled. 

“If I may ask, Padawan Tano," a reedy voice interjected, "how _did_ you manage to escape an entire camp of well-trained Mandalorian warriors? It seems a bit… _unlikely_ for a Padawan, don’t you think?” Ki-Adi Mundi folded his hands in his lap, eyeing Ahsoka with what she felt was an undue amount of skepticism. 

Ahsoka crossed her arms, her eyebrows shooting upwards. 

_Unlikely for a Padawan?_

Sure, she hadn’t _meant_ to decapitate four people. Or, at least, hadn't planned to. Decapitate four people. At once, that was.

She swallowed.

No, it definitely hadn't felt like the Jedi way. 

_But they were going to kill me! And not only did I escape but I *also* saved that idiot Lux! Doesn’t that count for something?_  

She was torn between hesitation and irritation, between her commitment to the Jedi and her increasing questioning of the Order she was brought up with. Anakin had more than once told her his philosophy of dealing with uncomfortable Council inquiries -  _"What they don't know can't hurt them, Snips. Stick to the basics. The more unnecessary details you give, the longer you'll be stuck in the room with that bunch of humorless kogas."_ It wasn't  _really_ something that was an integral part of the mission, but Ahsoka somehow felt uncomfortable about the prospect of lying. Especially about something that she didn't feel all that great about herself.

But then again, she was pretty sure the Council wouldn't exactly be  _understanding_ of...of what had happened. 

“Padawan Tano has proven herself a more than capable fighter, Master Mundi,” a clipped Coruscanti-accented voice chimed in. “I have no doubt that she handled herself in a manner befitting the Jedi Order and her training.”

Ahsoka couldn't quite hold in a small, satisfied grin at Obi-wan's comment. She turned towards her grand-master and gave a slight bow, as Council protocol demanded. He rewarded her with the slightest of smiles. _Thank you, Master Obi-wan._ She knew he would ask her about the incident in more detail later, but Obi-wan would…understand. 

_He looks really tired._ There were prominent bags under the copper-haired man’s eyes and the outline of a bandage was visible under his black glove. Ahsoka knew that Obi-wan had not been in the best condition after Zygerria, but she was surprised to see him still so ragged after almost three weeks. 

She was so distracted by Obi-wan's state that she almost missed the annoyed look Ki-Adi passed the man after his statement. The fact that the Jedi Council wasn't always in full agreement was something that still surprised her.

Mace Windu shifted in his seat, exchanging the slightest of nods with Yoda. He opened his hands from their steepled position and leaned forward slightly. “Thank you, Padawan Tano, that will be enough for now. We’ll be in contact if we need any more information.”

She bowed more deeply this time. “Thank you, Masters.”

Ahsoka left the room and immediately breathed a large sigh of relief as the Council chamber doors closed. No matter how many times she had been summoned to the governing Jedi body, she had never quite gotten used to the stiff, formal feel of the meetings. She knew many of these Masters outside the confines of the Council room, especially Masters Obi-wan and Plo, and for all of Obi-wan's stuffiness, for all of Plo's cautious reserve, both men were inherently kind, gentle, and more often than not willing to bend certain rules if it benefited the greater good. Ahsoka didn't like the way the Council setting seemed to turn them both into automatons, into these cold people that she felt like she didn't know anymore. 

“Snips!”

Anakin Skywalker came bounding out the turbolift doors.

“Hi, Master.” Her greeting was weary. She  _really_ needed to get some sleep. 

Anakin's face wrinkled in concern. “Is everything okay? You're not hurt are you? What  _happened_  ?" Skyguy gave her a playful nudge. "You bested those _koochoos_  didn't you?"

Ahsoka couldn't help but smile. Even after all these years, her Master was still as protective as he ever had been, and still as proud of his student's prowess on the battlefield. 

“I’m fine, Skyguy. It was an…interesting mission, that’s for sure.” She wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk about everything quite yet, not with the strange seesawing in the Force she had been feeling since arriving back at the Jedi Temple. No, she needed to center first. Then she'd talk to Anakin.

They walked into the turbolift, the doors closing with a gentle _whoosh_. Her Master turned towards her, one hand on his hip, the other rubbing the back of his neck. “I should have been there, Snips. I’m sorry,” began Anakin. “The Council,” he gestured wildly in the general direction of the room now above them, “has grounded me _and_ the 501st for now. For _mental well-being,”_ he spat out the last words. 

Ahsoka tried to arrange her face into something resembling something between surprise and indignation. She had already heard about the furlough from Rex. The clone hadn't seemed too put out by it, and had actually expressed his gratitude for the opportunity to be able to "put his _vods_ back together." All of them had barely had a chance to breathe in the past six months, and it was far past time for the men to get some rest. Especially after the whole Zygerria episode. 

She reached out a hand to her Master's elbow, touching it lightly. “It’s okay, Master. I had your training to fall back on.” She smiled gently at Anakin.

_And what else of your Master's did you have to fall back on?_

Ahsoka stopped herself from frowning. She hadn't  _quite_ been able to shake the echoes, the warnings of her elder self ever since their strange experience on Mortis. 

They reached the ground level of the Temple, the turbolift ringing with a small, dulcet tone. The doors opened to reveal a familiar ginger-haired man in cream robes. 

“What a surprise to find you here, Anakin. I thought you were supposed to be meditating as per healer’s orders?” Obi-wan asked with a small smirk, one eyebrow arched in what was now a familiar expression.

Her Master, predictably, pouted in response, waving his hand in mock irritation at his friend. “It was more of a healer’s _suggestion."_ He wrapped an arm around Ahsoka's shoulders as the three of them walked though the main hall. "Besides, my Padawan’s more important. I want to make sure she’s okay after being subjected to another boring Council meeting for an hour. Right, Snips?” he gave her a wink.

Obi-wan rolled his eyes, taking his chin in his hand. Ahsoka thought she felt the Force cloud ever so slightly. “Yes, well. If you’re so eager to be moving, then I'm sure you'll be thrilled with this news. We’ve been asked to investigate a small drug ring on the lower levels tomorrow.”

Anakin's cheerful grin was quickly replaced with outrage. “A drug ring? Come on, Obi-wan, this is small-time stuff! Send some Padawans instead!” he protested. "No offense, Snips," he whispered conspiratorially, loud enough, of course, for Obi-wan to hear.

Ahsoka laughed to herself, putting a hand over her mouth to cover her smile. She knew that Anakin would be elated at the prospect of any kind of action after being stuck in the Temple as long as he had been, and that most of this was an act to annoy Obi-wan.

And true to form, Obi-wan let out a long-suffering sigh. “Part of the war effort is securing the home front, as I know you’re aware, Anakin.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And we’re a bit thin on personnel at the moment.”

That much was true and no laughing matter. At her debriefing, less than half the Council had been present without the use of holo-transmission, the remainder having been called out to the front lines of the war.

“Yeah, but a drug ring? We can’t even bring the men on this mission!” Anakin complained. 

“They’ll have ample opportunity to exercise their talents soon, I assure you,” Obi-wan replied darkly. Once more Ahsoka felt that strange teetering...the shifting between two prisms of energy. She wondered if Anakin sensed it as well. “In the meantime," the older Jedi continued, "I suggest both of you get some rest. I’ll be meeting you both at 0800 tomorrow morning.”

Ahsoka perked up. “Me, too, Master Obi-wan?”

He looked over to her wth a fond, but somehow sad, smile. 

“Yes, you, too,Ahsoka,” he replied. "Please ensure that Anakin is awake  _before_ 0800 and not  _at_ 0800." He gave her a knowing look. "And now, if you will excuse me, I have some other matters to attend to."

"See you tomorrow, Obi-wan," replied Anakin, watching his former teacher's retreating form for a moment before turning to Ahsoka. "C'mon, Snips. Want to get some dinner?"

She opened her mouth to say 'yes' but...

What _was_  it? _Why am I feeling so uneasy?_

Everything seemed fine. By the looks of things, everything _was_ fine beyond the usual stresses of the war. But she could feel...so much activity in the undercurrents of the Force. So many secrets that wouldn't, or perhaps couldn't divulge themselves. Things long-buried. Things recently concealed.

_I just need a chance to be alone for a minute. To meditate. To center._

She shivered.

_To stop hearing the sound of heads hitting the snow._

"Maybe later, Master. I...I really need to take a shower and get a nap."

His face fell. Anakin Skywalker was not a man who hid his emotions well. Still, he recovered quickly, albeit slightly less buoyant than he had been half a minute earlier. 

"Alright, Snips. Comm me if you want to eat later."

She gave Anakin a half-hearted wave and made her way back to their quarters, the tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding gradually releasing as she walked further and further away from her Master.

 

* * *

 

_Next day, 1800_ -  _Landing docks, Coruscant street level_

“I don’t know, Obi-wan, those guys really don’t seem like they’re involved in any kind of glitter cartel,” mused Anakin, as they walked out of the third Coruscant storage facility they had visited within the past hour.

“Mmm, yes,” the older Jedi responded, obviously paying little attention to what Anakin had to say. He motioned for Anakin and Ahsoka to follow him towards the cargo loading area of the docks. 

They had been out all day on the lower levels and street levels, investigating what felt to Ahsoka to be a wild bantha chase for some kind of drug cartel that Obi-wan seemed certain had ties to the Separatists. After the past few days of fighting Death Watch and running full-speed through the galaxy, Ahsoka didn't mind the less demanding nature of this assignment. Still, hours of questioning dock workers, combing over cargo manifests, and occasionally slipping into a shady cantina so Obi-wan could eavesdrop for information - it had gotten them nowhere and both the Togruta Jedi and her Master were feeling a bit restless.

Ahsoka trailed a step behind Anakin and Obi-wan, listening to them rehash an ages-old argument about the virtues of Coruscant traffic laws. Anakin, despite his near-constant complaints that this assignment was a "punishment" and that "he could be doing other things like saving the galaxy", had been mostly enjoying himself, happy to be out of the Temple and spending time with both Obi-wan and Ahsoka in a place that  _wasn't_  threatening immediate death or dismemberment. He had even convinced Obi-wan to take them all out for lunch, a rare treat for the usually ration-bar-fed Jedi. Anakin had spent the entire meal raving about how much better that food was than the cafeteria in the Jedi Temple, how even the tasteless ration bars they were constantly eating on the battlefield were better than the food at the Jedi Temple. 

Obi-wan had taken that moment to look up from his untouched plate to remind Anakin that if his former student had perhaps not attempted to sneak into the cafeteria nearly every night as a teenager, the whole Temple dining experience may have been a more pleasurable experience. The cafeteria workers, after all, had long and detailed memories, and possibly a picture of Anakin Skywalker pinned to the wall in the back as a warning and reminder of his past transgressions.

Anakin scoffed at his former master, poaching the uneaten Nerf sausage from Obi-wan's plate in response to his criticisms, vacuuming it up in impressively short order. The older Jedi made a show of being offended, but Ahsoka had noticed that the man had barely touched his food, spending the majority of the meal poking at his meat rather than actually consuming it. Ahsoka had a sneaking suspicion that Obi-wan had a plan in mind when he ordered his lunch - the older Jedi had more than once expressed his distaste for Nerf meat, and it just happened to be one of Anakin's favorite dishes that _wasn't_ Tatooine-based. 

After lunch, they had resumed their investigation, poring over much of the same, scant information they had been supplied with by the Jedi Council that morning. They had gotten practically nowhere, and if Ahsoka hadn't known better, she almost would have said that Master Obi-was trying to kill time in some way. There was no real indication of criminal activity (aside from the usual Coruscanti back-room dealings), and the Force hadn't supplied any leanings one way or another.

The whole day had somehow been  _wrong._

“Doing okay there, Snips?”

Ahsoka reluctantly pulled herself out of her thoughts. “Yeah, Master,” she gave him a faint smile, “Just a little tired.” For all of her fatigue, Ahsoka had not slept well the previous night. 

They continued walking in the direction of the landing bays at the behest of Obi-wan, who had insisted that they have "one last look" at the cargo docks before returning to the Temple. This section of Coruscant was industrial - cranes and heavy equipment littered the streets, while the twinkling skyscrapers that were emblamatic of the urban center rose tall above them. Boxes of cargo were piled in undulating mountains near the ship docking bays, causing the city streets to take on a labyrinthine character. It was nearing nightfall, and tendrils of mist wove through the air around them, a consequence of the temperature differentials between the upper-atmosphere and the cooler ground levels that they found themselves on. They passed a few workers on the street who seemed to be heading home - construction or factory-employed, by the looks of their solid blue uniforms. The presence of the Jedi brought them no outward or unwarranted attention, but Ahsoka could feel the curious stares at her back.

"Obi-wan, this _is_ the last one, right?" Anakin yawned, obviously having lost patience with the tedious investigation. He took a small mechanical device out of his pocket and began to fiddle with it.

The older Jedi looked skyward. "Anakin, we need to be sure - " Obi-wan was interrupted by his commlink. Ahsoka thought she saw him jump ever so slightly.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, striding a few feet away from the two other Jedi to take his call.

Ahsoka looked over to where Obi-wan stood - he was hunched over his wrist and she could practically feel the tension emanating from his shoulders. His face was in a deep scowl, exaggerated by the gauntness of his features. 

“Master - is Obi-wan…is he okay?” she asked.

Anakin sighed, looking up from the small apparatus in his hands. “I don’t know, Snips.” His jaw set in a grimace as he once again played with the device. “He says he’s fine. He won’t talk about it. And I can’t force it out of him…” He turned to look in the direction of his former teacher. “He’s Obi-wan, Snips. Nothing bothers him. He releases everything into the Force - “ Anakin let out a cynical laugh, “ - or at least he says he does.” He ran a hand through his hair.

Ahsoka looked down. That weird...static - the dissonance she had noticed in the Force yesterday had only increased, like a series of discordant waves. Spoken reality against true reality. Words against intention. Truth against deception.

“Well, it seems that the Council has requested our presence for an emergency meeting,” Obi-wan called, walking back to where Anakin and Ahsoka stood, his gaze finding something that neither of them could see in the distance.

Anakin raised both hands towards the sky. “What?!? Come on, Obi-wan, they _just_ sent us out here this morning! Why are they jerking us around like this?” He added under his breath, _“If they were gonna do this, you should’ve at least let us sleep in this morning.”_

“I was not informed of the particulars, Anakin. Only that we are needed in there in thirty minutes,” replied Obi-wan, voice taut. Ahsoka didn’t think he was any more thrilled than Anakin to be called back to the Temple. 

Her Master sighed theatrically, mumbling something in Huttese. The trio hastened their steps, turning a corner to head in the direction of the turbolifts that would take them back to their speeder. To be honest, Ahsoka had no desire to find herself in front of the Council again, not so soon after she had to withstand their scrutiny yesterday. Her lack of sleep and the strangeness of the day had done nothing to help her center and she was fighting to stay focused.

“I can just see it now…” Anakin began lightly, sensing his Padawan’s unease. “Another long, boring debate.” He gave Ahsoka a knowing look. She smiled. _This_ she could do - the banter, the jokes. 

She gave her master a small nudge. “Would you rather they call you in to train younglings?” It had been a running joke between the two of them ever since Anakin’s last foray into creche duty, which had ended in an oil spill, a requisition for fifty hydrospanners, a room full of grinning, positively filthy younglings, and a _very_ experimental - but workable, as Anakin had protested - miniature pod racer. And a very pissed off Mace Windu, if she remembered correctly. Truth was, her master was quite good with the younglings, if not a little unconventional in his teaching style.

“Are you crazy?” he retorted with a mischievous grin. 

_/Remember Master Windu’s face?/_ sent Anakin.

Ahsoka had to bite in the inside of her mouth to keep from breaking out in laughter. Master Windu's lecture had lasted at least twice as long as Obi-wan's...

|| _Pew pew pew!_  ||

The blaster shots ricocheted off the metal cargo boxes, close enough that Ahsoka could feel their heat. Years of training on the battlefield had honed her instincts, and she cartwheeled behind a tall stack of containers to avoid the blaster fire. 

“Any idea where those shots came from?” She immediately heard the shift in Obi-wan's voice, from Master Kenobi to General Kenobi, respected military leader and tactician. 

A shot bounced right above Ahsoka’s head. She closed her eyes and reached out with the Force, waiting for an opening in the fusillade.

_ There. _

She peeked her head above the container and caught a glimpse of a man with a blaster rifle - one often used by marksmen. She pointed in the direction of the helmeted figure - 

“A sniper, I see him up there.”

Obi-wan nodded, and within seconds Ahsoka could see he already had a strategy formulated. 

“Alright, here’s the plan. Anakin, you flank him on the right. Ahsoka, you cover the lower streets.” They both nodded in agreement. “I’m going after him.” Ahsoka barely had time to register the chill the felt in the Force.

The three of them stood up in tandem, not needing to look at each other or even signal their plan of attack. At this point they were a well-oiled war machine, a three-headed, lightsaber-wielding monster. 

Ahsoka watched Obi-wan and Anakin run towards the shots, blocking them with their lightsabers, dancing around any that may have penetrated their guard. When they reached the building they split - Obi-wan to the left, Anakin to the right, each Jedi leaping upwards to reach the roof of building where the shots had emanated from.

She ran through the maze of cargo on the street level to where she could get a better view, where should could see all the possible routes of escape of the sniper. Her senses were heightened, attuned with the Force - colors more vivid, noises louder, time slowing just a fraction.

“I lost him!” She heard her master’s voice crackle on the comm. “Obi-wan, do you have anything?” His frustration was nearly palpable through the transmission. 

An eerie, foreboding silence settled over the scene. Ahsoka reached out through the Force. She could feel her Master’s signature, brimming with energy, with _worry._ She tried to reach for Obi-wan - in battle his signature was always easy to locate. 

But that presence that held such a shrewd, calculating threat - it was completely absent. For a moment she wondered if the atmosphere over Coruscant had somehow been damaged - she felt as if she had landed in the vacuum of space.

And then a shot shattered the calm into a million different pieces. She looked up in horror to see something come crashing down from the top of the building, only to violently hit some boxes and land face-down on the ground with a sickening _thud._

Ahsoka ran over to where it had landed, the feelings of misgiving she had earlier now blooming into something close to a full-blown panic. 

_Oh no oh no oh no..._

As she neared the body, she caught sight of familiar cream-colored robes and tell-tale ginger hair. 

_“Obi-wan?”_ she heard her Master’s panicked shout from above. 

She looked up at him, her Jedi training taking over. _Find the suspect, secure the scene, make sure no civilians are in danger._

“I got him. Go!” she heard herself shouting back. Anakin's footsteps echoed through the empty rooftop alleyways.

Gingerly, Ahsoka turned the Jedi Master’s prone form on his back, cradling the body in her lap, taking Obi-wan’s head in her arms. 

_He barely weighs anything._ Up close, Ahsoka could see the how the war had aged her grand-master - there were those deep, dark circles under the man’s eyes, and his temples were beginning to show signs of greying. One arm of his tunic sleeve had rolled up, exposing his arm. She held in a gasp - it was a mess of cuts and scars, and they didn't seem like typical battle injuries.

She heard a frustrated shout, the engine of a speeder start up in the distance. It was only dawning on Ahsoka now that she hadn’t felt any breath, any heartbeat coming from the man in her lap.

_Oh Force…_

Tears welled in her eyes.

_Not like this._ Obi-wan wasn’t supposed to die like this - from some thug with a sniper rifle. She frantically felt for a pulse - in his wrist, in his carotid artery, just like he had trained her. Nothing. 

Ahsoka leaned over, trying to listen for any breath, any sign of life. 

Her hands began to tremble. 

She tentatively reached out through the Force, hesitating. Ahsoka did not want confirmation of her fear, wanted to be able to deny what every piece of evidence was telling her was true…

There was nothing. 

Obi-wan Kenobi was dead. 

All she could do was sit there, with his body, still warm, in her lap. There were no parting words, no reassurances that there is _no death, only the Force._ Just a blaster shot and a plummeting bag of meat and bones. 

_He deserves -_ she swallowed - _deserved so much better than this._

She stifled a sob. Anakin was running towards them, towards her. 

He would have felt the absence in their bond, knew what it meant.

Denied what it meant. 

“How is he?” came the breathless question.

It was too much for her. She couldn’t tell him that Obi-wan was -

Ahsoka looked up at Anakin Skywalker, tears now rolling down her face. In that moment she knew he understood.

“Obi-wan?” he yelled, as if the sound of his voice alone could raise him from the dead.

Anakin leaned down, taking the limp form by the shoulders, shaking him. 

“ _Obi-wan?”_

Ahsoka averted her gaze as she heard the emergency service vehicles sirens grow louder. Apparently someone had called the incident in to the Coruscant authorities. It would only strike Ahsoka as odd many days later - they were in a nearly-deserted district, and she doubted anyone else had heard the confrontation.

_“OBI-WAN!”_

Anakin slumped over the body, pulling it into a tight embrace, his mechanical hand curling into a fist behind Obi-wan’s back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huttese-Basic translations
> 
>  _koga_ : this literally translates to "bed" but I'm making up an idea that beds are square-shaped and that the Huttese slang for a person being a "square" (boring) is to be called the word for bed. 
> 
> _koochos_ : idiots
> 
> Some dialogue lifted from "Deception," Clone Wars, Season 4 Episode 15
> 
> Chapter 6 preview: the fallout from Obi-wan's death. Anakin has a chat with Palps, Plo Koon gives Ahsoka some sage advice, and we end up at the Outlander with a very pissed off Anakin Skywalker.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feel free to contact me here or @legobiwan on Tumblr.


	6. Chapter 6

“Sit, Anakin.”

The Chancellor gestured to the large, plush chair in front of his desk. Wordlessly, the young Jedi knight slumped into the red seat, his right elbow propped on the arm of the chair. He leaned his head into his hand, not able to bring his gaze upwards in what would have been the expected decorum when in the presence of the leader of the Republic.

Palpatine clasped his hands behind his back and gazed out the large window behind his desk, looking out over the busy Coruscant streets. _His streets_. 

_What fools those Jedi are,_ he mused. Sidious couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. He observed the reflection of Anakin Skywalker in the window. The boy was practically vibrating with rage, with the urge for revenge…

Sidious could practically taste his bloodlust. 

“Do you need something to fortify yourself, Anakin? I understand this has been a particularly difficult day for you.” Sidious knew the boy didn’t touch alcohol except on rare occasions. But generous, well-meaning Chancellor Palpatine would never pass down an opportunity to try and make Anakin feel better, even if he was rebuffed.

Anakin didn’t respond, didn't even move. The normally kinetic young man was as motionless as a statue, his head still in his hand. He was wearing his full Jedi robe from the funeral, his hood only drawn down once he had entered the Chancellor’s office. 

_Good,_ Sidious thought,  _he trusts me enough to let me see his true emotions._

The silence stretched out, longer and longer like the star trails of hyperspace, but Sidious was in no rush. The more Skywalker dwelled on his emotions, the more anger he would feel, and the more powerful he would become. He had made a point of inviting Anakin to his office immediately following the funeral - the Jedi might have immediately tried to help him _release_ his feelings, to tamp down the obvious rage that was growing within the boy. 

_No, that would not do._ This was an opportunity to cultivate Skywalker even further, to continue molding him. The Force danced in lightening patterns around the room.  _Yes, my future apprentice, continue to dwell on the injustice of it all._

The Jedi lifted his head, his eyes rimmed in red, face ashen, almost as if he had heard Sidious's thoughts. “How - “ Anakin’s voice cracked with the first words he had spoken since screaming Obi-wan’s name after the murder. 

“How could he?” the young man growled.

Palpatine turned around, his eyes full of concern. 

“These criminals, Anakin - “

“NO!” the Jedi shouted, suddenly jumping out of the chair, swinging his arms wildly, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his robe swishing with the erratic movements. “How could Obi-wan?” 

Palpatine frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand…” he answered softly.

“He’s better than this, Chancellor! How could he let himself get ki - “ Sidious observed the young man clench both fists, his head bowed. The Force trembled with Anakin’s anger.  Sidious allowed himself to fully immerse himself in the boy’s untapped power for just a moment - it was truly a thing of beauty. 

“ _That_ \- “ Anakin began, his voice as coarse as the desert of his homeworld, “was just a common bounty hunter. Some _scum_ with a blaster-rifle. I’ve seen Obi - “ 

The young Jedi grit his teeth, trying to contain the maelstrom of emotions that were just beneath his barely-controlled surface.

_He can barely say the man’s name_ , observed Sidious. 

Anakin took a large breath. “Obi-wan - he…I’ve watched him in battle, Chancellor. I know he restrains - “ the Jedi grimaced at the use of the present tense, “ _restrained_ himself in combat. You know," Anakin snarled, "the Code. But - but even then. There’s no way he could - that some sniper could kill a Jedi just like that! Especially not Obi-wan!” his voice rose at the last exclamation. 

Palpatine put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “This is difficult, Anakin. Obi-wan was a fine warrior.” Sidious let the false praise settle before continuing. “Perhaps he was…overworked from his duties and - “

“The _kriffing_ Council!” Anakin interjected, pulling away from Palpatine’s touch. “They always want more and more - “

Sidious smiled internally. _Yes, Anakin._ _What do the Jedi know?_

“And Obi-wan!” he continued, “something was…something was _wrong_ with him, Chancellor! Really wrong. He wasn’t acting himself after we got back from Zygerria.” Anakin stopped for a moment, seemingly lost in the memories of the past few weeks, before whirling around, face full of fury. 

“But he just _wouldn’t let me help him!”_

The Force reached a fevered pitch, climaxing in a violent  _crack_ that reverberated through the large room. 

There was now a large splinter in Palpatine’s desk.

The young Jedi blanched. “Oh Force, I’m sorry Chancellor. I - it won’t happen aga...I just - “ Anakin sank back in the chair, hunching over, now holding his head with both hands. “I just can’t do this. I can’t believe he’s gone,” he murmured pathetically into his knees. 

While Palpatine comforted the young Jedi with a hand on his shoulder, Sidious was deep in thought. Kenobi wasn’t _dead_ , that much was clear to the Sith Lord. And a pity _that_ was as the man had been a large thorn in his side for far too long. Kenobi's continued existence was perhaps his largest impediment to fully controlling Skywalker. 

That the Jedi Order had  _actually_ sent Kenobi to do their dirty work - well, that was a stroke of brilliance he couldn’t have planned for. If Windu and Yoda had acted on his suggestions, Kenobi was most likely going to be in prison soon, under the guise of this _Rako Hardeen._ Once Anakin learned the truth of Kenobi’s deception, he would be ever that much closer to having the boy in his grasp.

But Sidious couldn’t ignore Skywalker’s off-hand comment about Kenobi. He himself had felt something _shift_ in the Force in the past few weeks. It was too early to know what the source was, but he made a note to pay more attention to the elder Jedi Master once he finally returned to Coruscant. 

For now, though…

“There, there Anakin. Is there anything I can do for you?”

The young Jedi shook his head. “No, Chancellor - I’ve, I’ve taken enough of your time.”

_“Knight Skywalker, please come in.”_

Anakin rolled his eyes and looked at his commlink with disgust. “ _Kriff!_ What do they want _now_?”

Palpatine remained silent as Skywalker punched the 'transmit' button.

“Yeah, what is it?” the young Jedi demanded.

_“Located Rako Hardeen we have. At the Outlander club he is. Padawan Tano you will take with you, and arrest this man, you will.”_ Yoda instructed. 

Sidious watched the man’s face turn ugly with hate. _Perhaps I won’t have to worry about Kenobi, after all_ , the Sith thought idly.

“I’m on my way, Master Yoda,” Anakin replied. “That _scum_ is going to _pay_ for what he did,” he said under his breath, stalking out of the Chancellor’s office without so much as a goodbye.

Now alone, Sidious allowed himself a full smile. _Everything is going according to plan._

  

* * *

 

_“Follow me.”_

It was an invitation, not an order - but Ahsoka felt she had little choice but to accept, despite the fact that the only thing she really wished was to disappear into her quarters.

Her robe billowed around her as they walked down the long corridors of the Jedi Temple. Ahsoka strained to remember the last time she had worn the garment - it may have been when she was “officially” introduced as Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan almost two years ago.

So much had changed since that time.

So much had changed in the last few hours. 

She was still trying to piece it all together, but the events had just happened too quickly for her to really come to terms with any of it. The Zygerrian mission. The relocation of the colonists. The assignment to Mandalore. The confrontation with the Deathwatch on Carlac. 

_And now Obi-wan…_

“Oof!” She ran into the figure in front of her, who had stopped before the door to his quarters. 

“Sorry, Master Plo.”

The tall Kel Dor didn’t turn around, but gently admonished, “Be mindful of your focus, Little ‘Soka.”

Ahsoka frowned. She really hoped Master Plo wasn’t bringing her to his quarters to have a chat about her lack of focus. It didn’t _seem_ like the type of thing he would do but…

She stepped over the threshold into the room. 

It was sparsely furnished, as were most of the Jedi Master’s rooms she had been in. Obi-wan’s quarters were well-organized, if a bit bare, adorned with plants, innumerable stray teacups, and books. Anakin's room, in their shared space, was more of a chaotic storage closet, a mess of various mechanical experiments and pod racing paraphernalia. 

Plo Koon’s room, however, did not exhibit the almost-violent abstention of Obi-wan's, nor the haphazard clutter of her master's. Unlike the other two, his rooms felt like...well, a _home._  The Kel Dor's room was by no means overly-opulent, but the grey-green rug, the well-worn sofa, the simple wooden table - they all were permeated with a feeling of  _caring,_ of  _warmth_ _._ Ahsoka glanced around at the windows, which she knew were adorned with numerous variations of windchimes. A soft breeze drifted through one of the open windows, causing one of the chimes to ring softly. It was the calmest sound Ahsoka had heard in weeks.

The Kel Dor excused himself, moving to the adjacent kitchen to prepare some tea. Ahsoka was left alone, breathing in the soft sounds of the chimes, the gentle movement of the air. Something caught her attention. In the window overlooking the middle of the Temple, there hung one windchime of particular beauty, one she hadn't noticed before - it was a type of iridescent purple - or green, now that it rotated ever so slightly in the sunlight.

Ahsoka took a step closer to inspect the item. The individual pieces that hung down from the metal frame were oval-shaped, and had a glassy quality to them. She wondered what type of sound they would make when they came together. She imagined a tinkling of glass, not unlike the sounds she heard at various Senate functions when the government workers toasted each other for yet another seeming accomplishment. 

She reached up to touch one of the pieces. 

“Ah, I see you’ve taken interest in the _Banan Do_.”

Ahoska quickly pulled her hand down, trying not to look guilty. She opened her mouth to apologize -

Plo Koon held up a wrinkled, long-nailed hand. “No need to apologize, Ahsoka. There is nothing inherently wrong with a bit of curiosity.”

The Kel Dor joined the young Jedi Padawan in front of the window. 

“The _Banan Do_ is an interesting object for our people. Our naming customs originate from what once were considered the ancient wind spirits.” He turned to her and she saw the a slight shift in his face that indicated that he would be smiling, if not for the mask he was forced to wear to survive on the oxygen-heavy Coruscant. 

“Of course we know them now as atmospheric phenomena. But that hasn’t stopped the Kel Dor from naming their young after the numerous subtle sounds that the wind creates.” He batted the chime lightly with his hand. 

To Ahsoka’s suprise, it did not ring with a glassy _ting_ , but a wooden, hollow series of _dos._

“You see, Little ‘Soka, not everything is as it appears.”

Ahsoka considered the object in front of her. There was _something_ in Master Plo’s voice...

“But enough of that. Please, have a seat.” He pointed in the direction of the couch and a table with two cups and a kettle set on top of it. “And some tea.”

She took a seat of the far side of the sofa as the Del Kor pulled up a chair to the other side of the table. Ahsoka breathed in the tea - it was a _yarba_ blend, a tart variety that was favored by Yoda. She idly wondered if the Grandmaster had all of the Initiates try this drink, as he had with her class. 

“How are you doing, Ahsoka?”

She looked at her cup. How _was_ she doing?

Ahsoka could say that she was fine, just tired. She could say that she was working to release her emotions into the Force, just as she was supposed to. That she didn't have any fears, or doubts about Anakin. About how Obi-wan had been acting. About  _herself._  

She opened her mouth to repeat the same response she had been carrying with her all day -

\- and then stopped.  _There were too many secrets._ She could feel the weight of them all in her stomach, the discomfort of her mission on Carlac festering in her blood, her unprocessed grief at the sudden loss of her own grandmaster still eroding her usual defenses...

Within seconds she found herself dissembling. About the Zygerrian mission. How she felt so vulnerable, so _exposed_ in her undercover assignment. How she worried about Anakin and his temper, how he had more and more taken on the characteristics of the slave master he was pretending to be on Zygerria. How she wondered about Master Obi-wan’s well-being, his constant rebuffing of help of any sort. How she felt physically pained at the state of her people, their mistrust of the Jedi. The talks on Mandalore. 

Carlac. 

“…so I was dragged in front of Pre Viszla, the leader of the Deathwatch. He…took out this _black_ lightsaber. I didn’t even know a thing like that existed. They were going to execute me.”

She shivered, telling the Jedi Master how Artoo had come to save the day. How the little droid had found her lightsabers and shot them to her at the last-minute. How she saw a flash of red before her eyes before cutting her bonds, before cutting off their _heads_ …

How Ahsoka could still hear the _plops_ of each one as they hit the snow. 

She stopped, waiting for a rebuke. For Plo to tell her she was wrong, that she had acted out of vengeance, out of the dark. 

“How do you feel about that, Ahsoka?” he only asked. 

She sighed and set her cup down on the table. “Confused. Scared. I…I keep on wanting to find time to meditate on it. To release those fears into the Force, like Master Skywalker taught me.” She had to laugh to herself at that statement. Skyguy was notorious for his _inability_ to meditate and release _his_ emotions. In retrospect, it seemed no surprise that his student would encounter the same difficulties. 

Plo leaned forward in his chair, his attention focused fully on the young Togruta.

“Ahsoka, I do not believe you are any more dark than I am.”

Ahsoka released the breath she hadn’t noticed she was holding.

“You were placed in an extraordinary situation and acted the best you could." He reached over the table and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Ahsoka, we _all_ feel anger at times, even the best of the Jedi. Especially now.”

“War is cruel, and I fear that you will see yet more cruelty before this is all over. You have been forced to grow up on the battlefield, and despite the horrors you’ve been exposed to at a young age, you remain firmly rooted in the Light.”

“But do not let these worries and fears eat at you from the inside. Know that even the Council is not in complete agreement about how to manage the stresses of this war. About how to manage our own conflicting emotions.”

The Kel Dor released his hold on her and sat back in his chair. Ahsoka was taken aback at Plo’s frankness. Not only was he admitting the faults of the Council, but he was admitting them to _her._ Treating her as if she were a full Knight, not in constant need of sheltering. 

“Your Master," he continued, "he is a good man, but he is not without his faults. He holds on to what he believes is his. He is afraid of loss, is angry at those who dare take something away from him.  Ahsoka, Anakin is unlike any other Jedi who has come through this Temple. And know that that is a double-edged sword, for both of you.”

It confirmed the feelings that had been growing in Ahsoka since Mortis, since the vision of her elder self had warned her about staying Anakin’s student. The war had moved too fast after they had returned from that bizarre encounter, and she had not had time to truly process the statement and its implications. 

“Master Plo - I’m worried about Anakin. Now that Obi-wan…”

She closed her eyes. It was still so hard to for her to speak about it. 

_No more secrets._

She steeled herself. “Now that Obi-wan is dead,” she let out a deep breath, “if he finds Hardeen, I don’t know what he’ll do. He’s like a…burning sun right now...I don’t want him to do something he’ll regret.”

But there was something else that was niggling at her mind. It was all too neat, too strange. 

“Master Plo, something isn’t _right_ about all of this. I can’t quite put my finger on it - but - when I listen to the Force, it’s like - it’s like it’s trying to tell me something, to look out for something, or…”

The Kel Dor shifted slightly in his seat but remained silent, crossing his arms in front of his chest, one long-nailed hand tapping his fingers in succession. 

“Ahsoka,” he began, “remember what I told you about the _Banan Do.”_

_The wind chime?_ Ahsoka couldn’t figure what he was getting at, especially after all this...openness just a few minutes before. _Why is he suddenly acting like...a Council member?_  She opened her mouth to argue when her commlink went off.

_“Ahsoka. Meet me on landing dock 34 now.”_ It was Anakin, his voice dark and tense.

She looked at Plo briefly. He didn’t stir. 

“What? Wait, Master, what’s going on?”

_“Ahsoka, don’t argue. Just get down here. They found Rako Hardeen. We need to go deal with him before he gets away.”_ The words were full of violent, deadly intent. There was no mistaking what was foremost on Anakin’s mind. 

She scowled. “I’ll be there, Master.”

Ahsoka stood up, trying to ready herself for a confrontation that would be difficult at best. She was set to walk out when Plo lightly placed a hand on her elbow.

“Ahsoka. Be careful. For both your sake and your Master’s.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. _What am I supposed to do?_ She wanted Hardeen caught as much as Anakin did, but she didn’t want to see her Master murder someone out of vengeance. 

“Remind him, Ahsoka. The man he killed would not want Anakin to do this. Honor Obi-wan’s memory. And remember the _Banan Do._ ”

_Not everything is as it seems._

“Thank you, Master Plo.” 

And with that she ran out of the quarters towards the landing bay.

 

* * *

 

“Did Master Yoda say how they found the sniper?”

Anakin pushed the speeder to its limits, weaving in and out of the busy Coruscant traffic. His knuckles were white, gripping the steering wheel with an intense ferocity that might have torn it in two.

“Who cares? “ he growled. “All that matters is they did.”

The young Jedi didn’t notice the worried glance that his Padawan sent in his direction. He barely registered the angry honks and shouts of the other drivers as he passed within inches of their vehicles. He didn’t even truly feel the turmoil in the Force that embraced him, that revolved around him. 

There was only once thing on his mind, only one goal. 

Revenge. 

Rako Hardeen.

His mind spit the name with venom. 

He had taken something from Anakin. Something that was _his_ , something that was one of the most important things in the galaxy to him. 

No one took away what Anakin Skywalker held dear. No one was allowed to make him feel that kind of loss again. Like the way he felt when his mother -

He slammed on the gas, causing the vehicle to shudder in protest.

_Anakin_ , he heard the voice of his former Master in his head, _this is not the Jedi way._

He snorted. _And where did following the Code get you, Obi-wan?_

Dead. Dead. Dead.

No, he couldn’t let this scum wander around free. Wander around still breathing while his Master, his best friend -

His brother.

Anakin landed the speeder in front of a seedy bar named _The Outlander._ There was nothing special about the establishment - it was just like any of the other worn-down drinking holes that littered the streets of the lower levels of Coruscant. 

The neon lights on the outside flashed on and off. It was giving Anakin a massive headache.

“C’mon, Snips,” he ordered curtly, jumping out of the speeder, expecting to hear Ahsoka’s soft footfalls behind him. 

He turned around when he didn’t sense her behind him. 

“Ahsoka, what are you _doing?”_ he snarled. “ _Come. On._ ”

He didn’t have time for this. The Force was whirling around him, anticipating the violence, the _release._

“Skyguy, wait - “

Anakin was incensed. “ _Wait?!?_ You want me to kriffing _wait?_ Ahsoka, Obi-wan’s killer is in there right now. We can’t just _let him go.”_ The world around Anakin began to spin. He felt like he would lose control any minute. 

_Kill kill kill_. The words seemed to be drummed into his head, growing louder and more insistent. 

“ANAKIN!” she shouted.

Her voice broke through the noise in his mind, the storm of rage that was threatening to overtake him. Ahsoka rarely called him by his first name, and even more rarely did she actually yell at him.

He took a deep breath and tried to focused his vision, staring down at the ground, trying to avoid the incessant flashing lights around him. He gripped the side of the speeder to keep his balance.

“Master, I need to ask you something. Something really important - before we go in there.”

Anakin didn’t know when Ahsoka had gotten out of the speeder and come by his side. 

He clenched his teeth. _I don’t have time for this._

“What, Ahsoka? What is it?” He barely managed the words out.

She didn't speak, she didn't even move. Anakin was ready to give up on what little patience he heard Ahsoka's voice again.

“Is this the way to honor Obi-wan’s memory? To kill? To take revenge?” 

The words were spoken so softly, barely audible over the busy city traffic, but they cut through his mind like a lightsaber, cut through the buzzing, the droning of the word _kill._

For the first time since Obi-wan’s death, Anakin’s mind was silent. 

He sighed. _No, no he wouldn’t._ Obi-wan would want justice, would want to rely on the systems the Republic and the Jedi Order had set into place. 

Would have turned him in to the Council if Anakin had ever told him about the Sandpeople.

He felt a smaller hand on his arm. “Please, Master,” she pleaded.

Anakin shook his head. The man didn’t deserve to live. He _deserved_ death, Anakin _knew_ that. 

But he also knew that Obi-wan, even in death, would never forgive Anakin if he repeated his actions on Tatooine in Obi-wan's name.

“What would you have me do Snips, invite him to tea?” he spat.

“No. Hardeen - he, he did something _awful_. Something that hurt you. That hurt _all_ of us! But let him rot in jail, let him stay there, until the end of his life. It’s what Obi-wan would have wanted,” she ended quietly.

Anakin took a large breath and held it. The Force sang around him, arguing. _Wouldn’t it feel so *good*?_ _To run your lightsaber through his chest? To watch the life drain from his eyes?_ Anakin clenched his fist.

A vision. _Himself, with yellow, sickly eyes. Obi-wan, years older, eyes wide with fear, with grief._

He let out the breath in one large huff. 

“Fine. He goes to jail.” Anakin turned to face Ahsoka. “But don’t expect me to be gentle with him.”

 

* * *

 

“Where is Rako Hardeen?”

The bar was relatively empty, only one or two patrons sitting in the back booths, preferring not to be seen. Even for a Coruscant cantina on the lower levels, the  _Outlander_ was, well...the low lighting hid the worst of the grime, but even with that advantage, Ahsoka could see various shades of stains that littered the walls and the ground. 

She pursed her lips in disgust. _I’m going to take a long shower after this._

The Anaconda bartender slithered on top of his glassware, seemingly unbothered by the presence of two Jedi in his establishment. 

He nodded a head towards a dark corridor. “Back room.”

No other comments. No other questions. It wasn’t his business. 

They walked wordlessly in the direction the bartender indicated. Ahsoka tensed, ready for a confrontation. 

The door to the room was ajar. At first, Ahsoka didn't think anyone was inside, that they were too late. And then she saw the prone form on the bed, the one she had barely glanced not more than a day ago on top of a building.

The man didn’t even stir. 

“Is he dead?” she asked.

Anakin glowered in the man’s direction, pounding a fist into his open palm. “He’s about to be.”

Ahsoka froze. 

The body let out a particularly loud snore and stirred, turning to the angry visage of Anakin Skywalker that towered above him, like a vengeful god.

“A Jedi?” the voice was hoarse with sleep.“I already killed a Jedi today. Let me sleep.” He turned back to the window, apparently unconcerned or unaware of the furious presence hovering over him. 

Ahsoka was puzzled. _How did he know we were Jedi?_

Anakin stood straight, face filled with disgust. “He’s not dead. He’s _drunk.”_

Before Ahsoka could react, her Master grabbed Hardeen by the collar, slamming him against the wall. He drew his lightsaber and jammed the hilt into the man’s ribs. 

Anakin’s eyes grew wide with fury as his thumb hovered above the ignition switch of his saber. The Force, which had been filled with barely restrained tension not only a minute ago, was now wild, Anakin's bright presence swirling with red and black. Ahsoka sent a silent plea into the Force. _Please don’t let him do this._

Hardeen’s head lolled back and forth, his eyes obviously unable to focus on the angry Jedi in front of him. He let out a groan as if he would be sick.

For a minute, she was sure her Master was going to do it. His eyes bored into the man, hoping for a reaction. Ahsoka knew he was waiting for the slightest provocation, the smallest excuse to act.

But there was nothing. 

And suddenly Anakin deflated in one breath. 

“If was up to me,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “I would kill you right here. But lucky for you, the man you murdered would rather see you rot in jail.”

Hardeen merely bent over and vomited in response. 

Anakin wrested the sniper’s arms behind him, forcing them into stuncuffs. “Let’s go, you coward, before I change my mind.” He gave the criminal a hard push in the direction of the exit. Hardeen staggered forward, not quite in a straight line, Anakin a mere hair's breath behind.

Ahsoka followed the strange duo, her steps suddenly heavy, leaden with fatigue. She thought she might collapse from the adrenaline crash. 

Hardeen would go to jail. A least _that_ part would be over. 

But somehow Ahsoka had a feeling that this was just the beginning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really enjoyed writing the Plo Koon - Ahsoka section. The whole "wind name" idea is lifted from the Legends Wookieepedia article on the Kel Dor. When I started this, I really had no idea that I would have any intention of filling in Plo like this, but he's a good guy, and is trying to do the right thing in a bad situation.
> 
> Guys, I know the story is moving a little slowly right now but I swear there are...reasons...
> 
> Chapter 7 preview: Obi-wan's in jail and _hot damn_ is he going to get himself into some trouble. Trouble way beyond stabbing some guy with a fork.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for some violence, mild sexual overtones.

He woke in the back seat of a speeder.

His first instinct was to move, to bring his hands to his face to wipe away whatever substance he could feel had crusted on his chin. He tried to lift an arm - 

There was a blinding flash of white; a short, but intense spasm of pain that coursed through his body. He bit back a curse.   


_ Stun cuffs. Wonderful. _

Obi-wan wondered who he had been captured by this time - this CIS? The Sith? Bounty hunters? It would only add fuel to the one-sided competition of "Who Rescues Who the Most?" that Anakin had claimed they were participating in. 

And obviously Obi-wan couldn't let Anakin win. 

He scanned his body for possible injuries, pleasantly surprised to find that for once, nothing was broken or too out of place. Still, he didn't feel all that well and he was having problems remembering why.  The Jedi shook his head, unwilling to open his eyes quite yet. His mouth tasted like cotton and he was uncertain if the unpleasant lurching sensation he was experiencing was the speeder or his own vestibular system. 

“Urgghh…” the moan slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Finally managed to sleep it off, _scum?_ ” a familiar voice asked in an unfamiliar, threatening manner. “Ahsoka, make sure Hardeen doesn’t try anything, or else I might just end up losing control of the speeder, if you catch my meaning.”

Obi-wan's blood froze and he was certain his heart stopped beating for just a second. He must still be sleeping. A nightmare, a vision, a hallucination - maybe he had been poisoned. Yes, that must be it. Poison.

But the Force told him otherwise. The Force told him this was all real, that this was happening right now. The Force whispered the truth.

He willed his eyes open, doing his best to swallow the bile that had risen in his throat, ignoring the pain that radiated from his stomach. Ahsoka sat next to him, her face set in grim determination. It did not escape his notice that her hand was hovering above her lightsaber.

He looked to the front seat. Anakin was driving. _Of course Anakin is driving, why else would this vehicle be going so fast?_  Obi-wan could sense that his former pupil was deeply, deeply angry. The waves of ire pounded at him in the Force, and it took Obi-wan all of his control to not open his mouth to...

What could he do? Warn him? Lecture him? 

He grit his teeth against the joint onslaught of emotions and nausea as Anakin took a particularly sharp turn around a corner.

The pieces of the previous night were reluctantly beginning to come together. His "death." The transformation chamber. The odd moment of confronting Rako Hardeen as his cloned double. The despair that welled in him once Mace had walked out the door of the cantina, leaving Obi-wan alone with his guilt... 

What had happened next? He couldn't quite place it. He was missing something, probably more than one thing. But his current situation could only mean -

_They sent *Anakin* to arrest me._

Obi-wan suppressed a pained grunt. For not the first time in recent memory he cursed the Council and their idiotic decisions, cursed himself for allowing himself to be talked into this snowballing disaster. Self-loathing and guilt crept over the edges his mind, live a malevolent fog. Something in the Force wavered and Ahsoka gave him an odd look.

He double-checked his mental walls. Now that he had come this far, it would be ridiculous if the entire plan were to fall apart due to a rudimentary shielding problem. 

But it seemed that his recent studies had paid off.  As far as Obi-wan could tell, he had completely covered his Force signature, blurring any concept of Light or Dark into a simple, benign background noise that would not be noticeable to most Force-wielders.  

It was as if he was a ghost in the Force.

The oscillations of the speeder's engine began to slow. Silver towers rose high above them, gleaming in the bright security lights. Ray shields and electric fences danced across the facade of the building. Obi-wan watched the ominous shadows of the Panopticon prison, Coruscant's largest detention center, come into view, looming over the rest of the industrial sector.

_Well, then. Home, sweet home, I suppose._

The speeder came to a halt on the landing pad and in an angry flash, Anakin was out of the front seat, grabbing Obi-wan by the collar and lifting him as if he weighed nothing at all, flinging his former teacher on the ground like a discarded hydrospanner. The taller man reared back to deliver a kick to the bounty hunter's ribs when Obi-wan saw Ahsoka lay a hand on her Master's elbow, shaking her head ever so slightly, her eyes wide with concern. Anakin clenched both fists, and the Force reached a frenzied peak before settling down into a muted rage. Anakin called out to the approaching clone guards, “You should be expecting this _scum_!" Obi-wan shuddered. He had never heard Anakin's voice contain so much...deadly malice.

Two clones approached and Obi-wan was unceremoniously hauled to his feet by the Republic soldiers, one on each side, their grips on his arms steady and unyielding as they began their inexorable path into the prison.

Obi-wan was beginning to remember just why he had gotten blackout drunk after Mace had left him alone in the  _Outlander._ Oblivion was far preferable to...this. 

He wanted to chance one last glance back at Anakin, to somehow convey a message, a hint that everything was okay, or that it at least would be okay. That he wasn't dead. That none of this was worth Anakin's commitment to the Jedi, wasn't worth his alignment to the Light. 

Instead, the large, heavy double doors simply slammed shut behind him.

A thousand dark thoughts assaulted him at once. They all contained the same message.

This was all his fault.

Obi-wan barely registered the next half-hour. He was divested of all of his clothing, searched ruthlessly and thoroughly in a most inhumane and degrading manner. When that was finally over with with, he was supplied with a hideous orange jumpsuit and read a list of prison regulations where every sentence, every bullet point seemed to end with the phrase, "or else." Normally, Obi-wan would have paid strict attention to all of this, as even the smallest detail could prove to be useful later on. But all his thoughts dwelled on Anakin, the mission, and the increasingly questionable judgement of the Council. 

_Why, just *why* would the Council send Anakin of all people to arrest me?_

But he could already recreate their arguments in his mind. _”Confront this, Anakin must,”_ the awful mimicry of Yoda rang through his head. “ _He must deal with his attachments. If we all grieved that same way for our fallen comrades...”_ Oppo Rancisis’s gravely tones grated on his ears.

_Enough._ He had listened to enough of the Council’s unreasonable justifications, and now - and now that _he_ was here, now that _he_ had seen for himself the hatred in his brother’s eyes. Had felt his _hatred_ in the Force…

Something dark stirred within Obi-wan. 

“Enjoy the company, Jedi-killer.”

He was pushed into his cell, nearly tripping over his own feet. A ray-shield immediately activated behind him with a tell-tale  _whip-snap_. 

Obi-wan grit his teeth. He  _hated_ ray shields. 

“Well, well…” drawled a deep baritone, “what do we have here?”

Obi-wan rounded, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing his wrists, trying to regain some mobility after being in binders for the past few hours. 

A blue-skinned man met his gaze. He lounged in the corner of his bed, one long leg slung haphazardly over the other, the bright orange of his prison jumpsuit clashing with the brilliant shade his skin. He grinned at Obi-wan, jumping down to the floor in one elegant movement. Obi-wan took in the deep burns on the man's face. Burns where there would have been gold markings, markings that denoted membership of a clan, or family on Pantora. This person had decided to burn in his face to sever all ties with his homeworld...that, or perhaps someone had burned them for him. 

“Name’s F'rkor.” The _"r"s_ of his name flipped of his tongue, crisp and dry. He extended a callused palm in Obi-wan’s general direction. 

The Jedi chose not to reciprocate the gesture, crossing his arms and sneering at the Pantoran. 

F'rkor threw back his head and laughed. “Tough guy, are you?” The Pantoran came to stand chest-to-chest with the Concordian. “So...what are _you_ in for?”

Rako Hardeen gave a noncommittal shrug. “Killed a guy.”

F'rkor gave him a sly smile, revealing a set of rotting teeth. “That’s it? Hardly enough to land you in jail, especially _this_ one.” He looked over the bounty hunter again, his coal-black eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You snitching on someone? Owe some money? Maybe to the Hutt clan, huh? Need some protection?" F'rkor chuckled, turning his back on Hardeen, raising a hand in a rather theatrical manner. "You ain't getting any protection here, my friend." The Pantoran turned his head and gave Obi-wan that sour grin once more over his shoulder. And then in an instant, F'rkor was on top of him, pushing Hardeen violently into the wall, all hints of a smile now replaced by a viscous snarl. "All new arrivals gotta go through  _me._ Everyone has to pay F'rkor." He pushed a finger into the Jedi's chest. "I'll get your story soon enough....and maybe a bit more."

Obi-wan pushed the Pantoran away. “I killed a Jedi,” the Concordian growled. 

F'rkor snorted, but kept his distance. “A Jedi?” He ran his hands together in satisfaction, eyebrows furrowing, not quite believing the Concordian's words. “Well...that’s better. Although,” the Pantoran held his hand out to take Obi-wan’s arm, “I can’t imagine a man like you - “

Hardeen quickly grabbed F'rkor by the wrist - _hard._ “I’m sure if you think hard enough, you’ll be able to.” 

F'rkor brought his hand down, rubbing his wrist but still grinning at the Concordian. “Oh, trust me, I will be,” the man answered, jumping back on to his own bed, his stare never leaving Obi-wan's.

 

* * *

 

Lunch was a dour affair. Obi-wan found himself in a seemingly never-ending sea of orange jumpsuits, the line for food twisting around the perimeter of the cafeteria, like some kind of neon swamp-snail. Bright lights illuminated the room to an almost uncomfortable level - Obi-wan could feel his still-latent headache intensifying behind his eyes. The harsh lighting and the clamor of the metallic dishwater in the reverberant chamber were setting his already jagged nerves on edge.

He reached over and took a grey food tray, looking upwards. Clone troopers were stationed on every level above them, their blasters at the ready, trained on the inmates below.  It didn’t escape Obi-wan’s notice that the clones' weapons were not set on ‘stun.’

_When did that become standard practice?_ he wondered, frowning.

Obi-wan took a step forward to the food dispenser. A long tube stuck out from a metal box, dripping some form of brown-green liquid. He did not have high hopes for this meal.

_Sploosh_. The machine dropped a puddle of semi-solid slop onto his plate. Obi-wan eyed the oozing mound with utter disgust. The food seemed to have no discernible smell and Obi-wan hoped it would have no discernible taste, either. 

Whispers followed him as he walked between tables, looking for an unoccupied area where he wouldn't be bothered. “That’s him…Kenobi’s killer.” He felt the stares of the other inmates upon him, appraising him, tracking him to where he sat down. “He doesn’t look so tough.”

The Concordian sighed and looked down at his food, not wanting to draw more attention to himself than his entrance already had. He took a mouthful -

“Ugh!”

\- and immediately spit it out, scowling.

_So much for the food having no discernible taste._

Footsteps headed in his direction, and Obi-wan thanked the Force for the intervention. Even a confrontation was preferable to having to deal with another bite of that horrid substance. Two figures loomed in the periphery of his vision, casting long shadows over the table. The Karkarodan nudged his Lutrillian companion, his large, sharp shark’s teeth glistening in the glare of the room. “That’s him?" he asked, condescension dripping form his words. "He doesn’t look so tough to me.”

The shark-man slammed his hands on the table and leaned towards Obi-wan’s face, spreading his mouth even wider to reveal even more of his jaw. “You don’t look so tough to me.”

Obi-wan clutched his fork, feeling the stirrings of that unnameable  _thing_ inside himself. His eyes hardened. Everything in his existence was becoming a massive  _irritant._ The food, his clothes, his hangover, the Council, the clones, F'rkor and his ridiculous posturing, Ana-

He stopped himself, both banishing and cultivating the feelings, the memories that the name evoked. Obi-wan stared at his fork, using it as a focal point for his emotions, holding it in mid-air as if it were some rare artifact. 

“This food tastes terrible." He felt, rather than saw the confusion in the two beings next to him. 

In one swift movement he wrapped his fist around the handle and plunged it deep into the back of the Karkarodan’s hand. The shark-man howled in pain, but Obi-wan just ground the fork deeper, breathing in the sound of metal against bone, and oh, it felt  _good._

He grabbed the Karkarodan by the soft flesh of his gills and pulled him close, dangerously close to his own mouth, still holding the fork in place with his opposite hand, still bathing in the waves of anguish emanating from the criminal. He grinned ever so slightly, whispering in the shark-man's ear. “ _Maybe you’d taste better_.”

“Hey, what’s going on down there?” the command of the clone rang down from above, artificially amplified by some form of vocal emulator.

Hardeen casually let go of the fork and gave the clone a small salute. 

“Nothing,” he called back, “just playing with my food.”

The Karkarodan held his hand tight against his abdomen, the piece of cutlery still sticking out of it. He had turned at least three shades lighter and Obi-wan could see a sheen of sweat that had formed on the man's face. “You’re crazy!” he yelled as he quickly backed away from the Concordian.

His Lutrillian companion gaped at the seemingly bored bounty hunter, adding, “ _Poo shan ika!”_ before following in pursuit of his comrade.

Obi-wan smiled.  _Good. P_ _erhaps I’ll be left alone now._

But as soon as he entertained that thought, someone else slid down the table to sit across from him. A Phindian. Moralo Eval.

“Rako Hardeen.” Eval's voice was hoarse, grainy, much like the other Phindians Obi-wan had met in his youth, his long arms extending past his waist, as was common for his species. 

“Your reputation proceeds you,” he continued, putting both elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of his face. “I’m curious, when you killed that Jedi, was it for money or revenge?”

_News certainly travels fast around here_. Yoda had made him a promise that his death wouldn't be covered by the Holonet, wouldn't be common knowledge except to the Jedi and a few politicians. But of course, the promises of the Council were counting for less and less these days, especially after Obi-wan had learned that  _Satine_ , of all people, had been present at his funeral. 

“I don’t know,” Hardeen answered disinterestedly, recalling a small tidbit of information Mace had given him at their very short briefing, “guess I was bored.”

Eval stared at him and then gave a wide grin. He reached over the table with his long, knobbed arm and grabbed a nondescript bottle.

“Try the sauce. It makes that slop almost tolerable,” he glanced down at the tray in front of Obi-wan. The Phindian stood up, “I’ll be seeing you, Mr. Hardeen.”

The tall man walked away without further comment. 

Phindians, in general, were a bit of a strange species. They often spoke in round-about ways, never quite getting to the point, and it seemed that Moralo Eval was no different. Their planet had been ravaged by the Syndicat - a group of rogue Phindians who had developed a certain kind of mind-erasure technology that had effectively enslaved the world for years. Obi-wan knew it well, as he, too, had been submitted to an unsuccessful mind-wipe as a Padawan. Although most of the mind-wiped Phindians exhibited symptoms of amnesia and docility, the more strong-willed, intelligent members of the race were not as lucky. They fought the mind wipe, fought the transformation, and because of this, often came out of the procedure mentally unstable, even criminally insane.

Especially when it was done to very small children. 

Obi-wan clenched his hand - he _should_ feel sympathy for them. The Syndicat’s occupation of Phindar was perhaps one of the main reasons that so many criminal masterminds came from there. Like Osi Sobeck, the cruel warden of the Citadel prison. Like Moralo Eval. 

Compassion was something a Jedi ought to have in abundance, but Obi-wan was finding himself to be in rather short supply of it lately.

A shrill siren went off and he felt his nerves turn to fire.

“Lunch time’s over - back to your cells!” 

 

* * *

 

“Ah, you’re back, my love.”

F'rkor was stretched out on his bed, peering from behind a worn datapad at the Concordian bounty hunter, his eyes wide, unstable.

Obi-wan only grunted in response, picking up his own prison-issued datapad from his bed. He fingered the data chip he had snuck into the facility, the chip that held... 

He sighed.  Mace and Yoda would be irate if they knew the chance he was taking by smuggling in any outside material, no less writings of the Sith. But the security measures of the Panopticon had holes, and Obi-wan was certain that he was not the only resident who had snuck illicit items into the prison. Especially for the right amount of credits.

Obi-wan ignored the gaze of his cellmate, sitting with the datapad on his bed, his back against the wall. The term "bed" was a bit generous. The sleeping surface was cold, hard, and did nothing for the various aches that had been igniting in his back and Force knows where else on his body. The brutal hangover that was just beginning to abate had turned his entire person into a pincushion, and every step, every movement had been agony for his first few hours in the prison. It had done nothing for his mood, no mind his connection with the Force or his focus. 

Obi-wan closed his eyes, slowing his breathing. He decided to not risk bringing out the chip. F'rkor was already far too curious as to his activities and he certainly didn't need to engage the deranged Pantoran any more than he had already. Besides, he already had the meditation memorized. And he just needed five minutes to…bury it all. To bury the last twenty-four hours under that layer of ice, to repress  _everything_ so he could just get through this awful, awful mission.

He could still see, still feel Anakin's unbridled rage, could feel the scorching ire of his friend's emotions. What was he doing right now? Who on the Council would be there to help him through this? 

Obi-wan had to scoff. No one. 

Only Ahsoka would stand by the young man through it all. Only Padmé, with her dangerous secrets...

_I should have stood by him as well. Ignored the Council. Risked everything._

But if Anakin had discovered...

The Jedi’s muscles tightened as he felt himself plunge into the frigid pool inside himself -

“Are you…meditating?” an incredulous voice slammed through the waters with him, dispersing the placid landscape in every which direction.

Obi-wan grit his teeth. _“I was.”_ The answer left his mouth before he could think better of it, and the Jedi grimaced at his own sloppiness. F'rkor was dangerous and far too shrewd for his own good. Obi-wan was quickly realizing that the Pantoran would need to be dealt with.

F'rkor slowly sat up and licked his lips. “I could think of better ways to pass the time.”

_What? Was he insinuating what he thought - no, nevermind._  “No thanks.” Obi-wan closed his eyes again, hoping to stifle any further conversation. 

And in an instant the bed seesawed, Obi-wan's head hitting the wall behind him with a resounding _crack._

F'rkor’s face swam in front of him. How many of them were there? Two, four, eight…the faces multiplied.

“I don’t think you understand, _friend._ ” The man’s visage finally focused, the black eyes almost burning, his blue skin turning a dark indigo. They were both on the bed, the Pantoran straddling the Concordian, his hand around his throat. Obi-wan gasped for breath. “You don’t get to have a choice in this matter. One way or another, I _will_ be getting payment from you.” The voice that had once been relaxed to the point of bored was now a tornado of intensity. The grip on his throat tightened. 

Obi-wan threw a leg out and kicked the Pantoran in the abdomen, throwing him off the bed and onto the hard floor below. 

“Oh, I like the ones that fight,” growled F'rkor, who had quickly righted himself. He bared his teeth at Obi-wan, running his tongue over his upper lip. 

Obi-wan’s hand twitched in irritation. He slid off his own bed and crouched low, readying himself for a fight. 

The Force trembled in anticipation of the promised violence.

"Let me tell you a little bit about  _me_ , Concordian. The last man to deny me payment had his tongue nailed to this wall within a day. The last we saw of him was his body hurtling through this ray shield to the bottom of the tower." F'rkor grinned. "I still have the souvenir, if you'd like to see. Of course, it will cost you  _extra_ , and you're already running up a _very_ expensive tab."

Obi-wan growled. "What do you want?" He didn't really want a fight, did he? It would only bring too much attention to Hardeen, who was already a somewhat infamous figure in the prison. Infamous, and now a target.

But the Force knew what Obi-wan really wanted, what that _thing_ , that presence underneath the ice craved - F'rkor's beaten body, his lungs grasping for air...

Obi-wan banished the images from his head, backing off from his own aggressive stance ever so slightly.

The slight change in body language did not escape the attention of F'rkor, who knew that he had won this round. "That's better," the wild black fires of the Pantoran's eyes faded. "There are all types of ways to pay off F'rkor. Information, credits...physical exchange."

"I don't deal in those commodities, unfortunately for you," replied Hardeen. 

The angry flush returned to the man. "Then you're going to have to pay  _double_ , Concordian."

The subtle  _whirr_ of an approaching hovercraft broke the standoff.

“Kriff, it’s the clones,” F'rkor spat, echoing Obi-wan’s thoughts. 

There was just enough time for F'rkor to jump back onto his bed and for Obi-wan to lean noncommittally against the wall before the clone guards were within sight.

The ray shield keeping them inside came down with its customary _whip-snap_. “Hardeen - with us,” ordered one of the guards.

Obi-wan didn't move, his mind still racing from his entanglement with F'rkor. _What is going on?_

The second clone guard approached him with an electric pike, its tip dancing dangerously close to Obi-wan’s abdomen.

“Make me ask it again, Jedi-killer. I’d be happy to use this on you.”

Obi-wan's gaze traveled from one clone to another, and then fleetingly over to F'rkor, whose eyes burned intensely even as he pretended to read his data pad, obviously hanging on to every word of the conversation between him and the clones. For a second, only a brief second, the Force surged within him, the icy cover of his emotions straining at need to control himself, to not, in one motion, annihilate every living being in the room -

_ “You have so much power, Master Jedi, and yet you choose not to wield it." _

It was gone in an instant. Wordlessly, Obi-wan followed the first clone onto the hovercraft. 

The vehicle ascended through the prison tower. Obi-wan closed his eyes, repeating the meditation he had studied and again and again in his mind - burying, suppressing, restraining, deeper and deeper. It was  _wrong_ , so very wrong. Every instinct he possessed screamed at the unnatural contortions in the energy around him, at the violence of his actions, his thoughts. But there was nothing else to be done. Not right now. Not with so much depending on his success.

The craft slowed at the entrance of another cell. The one guard inserted a key card, and the ray shield opened.

“Here you go, Hardeen. Enjoy your stay,” the clone laughed as he pushed Hardeen inside.

Obi-wan straightened, brushing the dust, the grimy shadows of the clones' grasp off of his jumpsuit. He looked up and was met by the intense gaze of Moralo Eval.

“What a coincidence,” Obi-wan began warily.

Eval smiled, his hands behind his back. “No coincidence.” 

Internally, Obi-wan couldn't agree more. There were few coincidences in this prison, and Obi-wan had the sinking feeling that Eval had thrown the weight of his influence and credits around in order to secure a certain...standing in the prison.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Obi-wan knew the clones, as well as the Republic they served, were not in any way a perfect organization, devoid of shortcomings. But if a notorious criminal such as Eval could gain so much power in a place like this, if the clones were being - what? - blackmailed? Threatened? Paid off? Obi-wan swallowed nervously. 

For the first time, the idea of betrayal by the clones entered his mind. The Republic, the Jedi - they were so reliant on the copies of Jango Fett. He and the other Council members had been so preoccupied by the possibility of the Jedi turning - it had never occurred to them that the clones, who had been bred to follow orders, who many considered to be comrades-in-arms - that they could pose a similar, or worse threat than a fallen Jedi...

He felt his blood run cold at the repercussions of such thoughts.

“I am Moralo Eval, and I have great influence here.”

“What do you want from me?” asked Hardeen, all attention now back in the present, on the Phindian.

Eval turned his back to the Jedi. “A man like you, Eval, there’s bigger game than Jedi,” he swirled around, a bit too dramatically for Obi-wan's tastes, “if you’ve got the guts.”

“I’m listening.”

Eval raised a long arm. “It’s a brilliant plan if I do say so, and it involves the Chancellor.”

Obi-wan felt a surge of elation. _Finally. Perhaps this whole exercise won’t be in vain after all._

And then a familiar, nasal voice tore through any hope he may have harbored.

“If I’m breaking out this goon along with us, it’ll cost you.” The gaunt face of Cad Bane appeared over the side of the second bunk. “Double.”

Obi-wan had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes.  _Bane. Lovely._

“Who you calling a goon?” Hardeen challenged. 

“Any imbecile can kill a Jedi with a lousy sniper blast.” Bane jumped nimbly to the floor, pointing a finger into Hardeen's chest. “You want my respect? You do it face-to-face.”

Obi-wan had to bite his tongue. _And *you* haven’t managed that feat yet, my friend._

But it brought up a dangerous point. If Cade Bane couldn’t bring down a Jedi, how long would the notion of Obi-wan Kenobi’s death hold? _Someone is bound to work this out sooner or later._

“Who said I wanted you respect?” he replied, with genuine disgust. 

“Make that triple my rate.”

The long arm of Eval suddenly wrapped itself around Hardeen’s shoulders. “Oh, what a shame. Seems this cell isn’t big enough for the three of us.” Eval did not sound disappointed at all. Obi-wan felt as if he had whiplash from the conflicting messages he was being sent from Eval.  _Why invite me here to divulge your plan if you're just going to send me away a minute later?_ Obi-wan furrowed his brow in thought.  _Or are they trying to set me up as the fall man for something?_

“Guard!” 

“It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, Hardeen.” The grip on Obi-wan's shoulders tightened and Eval’s voice took on a dangerous edge. “But you will forget everything you heard in here, or Moralo Eval will have you slaughtered.”

The ray shield opened again. 

“Do say hello to F'rkor for me, won’t you?”

 

* * *

 

Much to Obi-wan's relief, his hovercraft did not return to the cell after his impromptu meeting with Moralo Eval, instead, he delivering him to the recreation room, for the mandated “activity hour” allowed to all the inmates.

Obi-wan wandered through the main room of the recreation area, trying to locate the exact place where Mace and Yoda and told him there would be a communication station. Already things were not going to plan and the Council should at least know about Bane's involvement in the kidnapping plot.

He glanced around the room, which was bustling with activity. A group of Falleen were in the corner paying sabacc. There was a small crowd gathered around a holotransmittor - some kind of pod race was being televised. The too-familiar complexion of F'rkor attracted his attention - the disguised Jedi made sure to slip into an adjacent room as quickly as possible, not wanting anything to do with the Pantoran.

The loud _clangs_ of metal plates hitting one another greeted him at the door. He was in the gym, a rather large room equipped with an array of weightlifting equipment and other exercise machines. 

Obi-wan wasn’t _unfamiliar_ with the paraphernalia, although it had no presence in the Jedi Temple. Jedi training used the body itself for any weight-bearing activities, going through a pattern of isotonic and isometric exercises that encouraged fluidity of movement, linking it with breath. This practice, which had many variants, not only strengthened the body, but focused the mind, and was considered a kind of moving meditation. In addition to this, the Jedi would sometimes practice their _katas_ with weighted staffs, developing their strength naturally, as a wholistic part of their training, not needing to rely on crude machinery that often merely gave the appearance of strength.

Of course, in the past few years, much more of that training had been focused on battle combat, the war going as far to as alter the routines taught in the creche.

He sighed. The war was changing everything, apparently. _Including myself,_ he thought with no small amount of irony, taking in his terrible reflection in a nearby mirror. 

Obi-wan’s gaze landed on a bench where two inmates were spotting each other. The Force pricked at him. He was relatively certain that was the place Mace had told him about.  He sauntered over to the two men, channeling his accumulated displeasure at the entire situation into one icy glare. He grunted and flicked his head, a single movement, commanding the two to get lost.

“We were just leaving,” the one quivered, holding up his hands in the universal gesture of peace. 

Obi-wan settled down on the bench, making a show of stretching his arms while trying to feel for the hidden comm underneath the bench as surreptitiously as possible. His fingers touched the rounds edges of the device a second later. He had no idea if there would be someone on the receiving end, but at the very least the Temple communications center would record his message. 

“This is Ben.”

He flinched. It wasn’t the alias he had planned on using with Yoda and Mace, but the name had tumbled out of his mouth in the aftermath of his "death". It had been private, something that had only been used between him and Satine...

“I found the transmitter, but I shall have to make this short.”

Obi-wan glanced around. No one seemed to be paying him any mind - they were engrossed in their own workout routines, grunting and sweating like animals -

He clenched the device. “We have a problem. I made contact with Eval. He nearly divulged his kidnapping plot, but Cad Bane stopped him.”

_“Cad Bane”_ Mace’s voice came through the other end. _“We had no intel they were in league together.”_

Obi-wan bit back a sarcastic remark.  “It appears Eval’s hired Bane to break him out of prison, and the way they were talking, it’s imminent.”

_“Foolish we were to believe Bane’s capture was without purpose.”_

The Jedi’s eyebrows hit his hairline, or what would have been his hairline if he weren't inhabiting Rako Hardeen's body. He must have been on a mission when that happened. _So nice of the Council to inform me of that development._  

“Yes, but we can make this work for us..” he began, still periodically darting his eyes around the room to make sure he hadn’t been seen. “If they do try to escape, I won’t let them out of my sight. No doubt he shall lead us to some answers about the plot, and possibly to his superiors.” 

And that was something that _did_ terrify Obi-wan. He could only hope that there was some layer, some other hired hand in between Eval and Dooku. A confrontation with the Sith was the _last_ thing Obi-wan wanted at the moment. 

_“Good idea, Obi-wan.”_ The Jedi rolled his eyes. _Come on Mace, can you not even remember to use my code name here?_

_“Just don’t blow your cover. It could take a while to extract you from prison.”_

And wasn’t that just a happy thought. 

“Don’t worry,” he answered, a slight smile forming on his face despite his irritation, “I’m starting to enjoy playing the villain.” 

He felt the premonition too late. There was a flash of blue in the corner of his eye, and Obi-wan turned his head around just fast enough to see the retreating form of F'rkor through the glass doors. 

Anxiety welled in his chest. 

“Got to go.” He ended the transmission abruptly, carefully slipping the communicator inside his shirt.

He rose from the bench, slowly, as to not attract attention. Obi-wan walked to the entrance of the gym, peering through the doors.

There was no sign of F'rkor. 

He ran a sweaty palm over his face, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. There was no guarantee the Pantoran had seem him with the communicator, but he knew he had to take the worst-case scenario into account. 

Everything about the mission was just getting worse and worse. Anakin’s involvement in his arrest. Bane. Mace’s uncertainty over _when_ exactly he would be able to leave the prison. F'rkor and his ridiculous meddling. 

The Force began to swirl within him.  It would be dealt with. It had to be. One way or another. 

 

* * *

 

“Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Hardeen.” 

There was nothing altogether different about the blue-skinned criminal at first glance. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, as if he were waiting for a taxi on the Coruscant streets, without a care in the world. Obi-wan chose to ignore the Pantoran.

“Now please, Mr. Hardeen, don’t be shy.” F'rkor's voice darkened as he grabbed the Concordian by the shoulder, stopping Obi-wan mid-step. His eyes turned feral, and his deep scars somehow glistened even in the artificial lighting. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.  _“Or should I call you Ben?”_

Obi-wan's muscles tensed. There was no way F'rkor could have heard him, no way that anyone else in the gym could have had a clue as to what he was saying. Not unless he was being bugged, or someone on the Council was somehow compromised, or Dooku had...

_“Pantorans can be gifted lip-readers, Padawan, so be careful.”_

_“Yes, Master Qui-gon.”_

F'rkor was now a breath away from Obi-wan. The Pantoran placed one hand on the back of his neck, while grabbing the bounty hunter by the belt loops with the other. 

He pulled the Jedi forward until they were chest-to-chest. Obi-wan felt the putrid breath of the creature in his ear. “I don’t know who you are, Concordian, but I’ve broken tougher than _you._ Now, I’m sure you wouldn’t want your little conversation getting around to Moralo Eval and his friends, now would you?” 

The grasp on his neck suddenly tightened. Obi-wan's world tilted, vertigo causing everything to lurch in an unpleasant manner...

“So how about it, love?” A hand traveled down the inside of his leg, coming dangerously close to…

“Perhaps we can...settle this debt.” There was no mistaking the lurid intention in the Pantoran's voice. 

Obi-wan spit in F'rkor's face, pulling himself away from the vice-like grip. 

“I’d rather not, if it’s the same to you,” he growled. 

F'rkor’s wiped the spittle off his face, which had transformed into an ugly mask of hatred. “You’re going to find, bounty hunter, that you don’t have a choice in the matter.” The Pantoran reached into his jumpsuit, pulling out an improvised vibroblade. "One way or another,  _Ben_ , I will hear you scream tonight. With or without your tongue." 

 _Ben_. He hated the sound of that name coming from the criminal, he hated the  _desecration_ of what was once a symbol of trust, of lo - 

Blood rushed to his head, his heartbeat accelerated. 

F'rkor lifted the blade as Obi-wan readied his defense position -

And then the Jedi’s world went black, his eyes searing in pain. Rough hands grabbed him around the waist and he was sent ribs-first into the metal edge of the bed. The impact quickly robbed him of his breath and the Jedi fervently hoped his ribs weren’t broken… _again._ Before the shock had worn off completely, his head violently met the bed-frame, dazing the bald bounty hunter just as his vision was beginning to return. Fingers ripped at his jumpsuit buttons and Obi-wan felt the top of his outfit loosen, felt the cool air of the cell on his exposed shoulders.

_“Keep fighting, love. It makes the finish that much sweeter.”_ His mouth was practically _inside_ Obi-wan’s ear, and the Jedi felt the sickening sensation of a tongue running its way from his earlobe down his jawline. “Your vision will come back…eventually. I always come prepared with my toys for my less…cooperative guests.”  F'rkor moaned in pleasure behind him. “Oh, I am going to _enjoy_ this.” Obi-wan felt the edge of the blade slide dangerously close to his neck. "The question is, do I cut out your tongue first or do I save it for later?"

Obi-wan grit his teeth and threw his head back, his skull colliding with the Pantoran's, who immediately released his grip, but not without the blade that had been at the base of Obi-wan's neck leaving a long cut up the left side of his throat. Obi-wan put his hand to it, feeling the warm ooze of his own blood on his fingers. Something in the Jedi snapped at the feel, the smell, the release of his own crimson life force on his hand. 

He never felt the malevolent grin that passed over his face as he reached far inside, feeling for the small, angular crystals of accumulated emotion - of fear, of _anger_. He never felt the glee of the darkness, now allowed free, never felt the strangled cry of the light.

Obi-wan threw his hands outwards.

The Pantoran flew across the cell, crashing into the opposite wall, and then again was rammed face-first into the bed frame. Obi-wan gave one last motion and F'rkor rebounded to the far side of the cell, his head hitting the surface with a sickening _crack._ F'rkor slumped to the floor, whimpering in pain, attempting move his torso upright against the now blood-splattered wall. His left leg was bent sickeningly in the wrong direction and the Pantoran let out a series of rattling, awful coughs.

_"Pathetic lifeform,"_ Obi-wan spat, drinking in the sight in front of him . 

The voice wasn’t his. It was rough, violent, and it promised death and destruction. This was voice of Rako Hardeen, and somehow...just somehow, that fact made the words, the actions, the absolute _fury_ that he felt - it made it all belong to the Concordian criminal, _not_ Obi-wan Kenobi.

He towered over the fallen Pantoran, paying no mind to the groans, the pleas for mercy. 

There would be no mercy tonight.

Hardeen raised his right leg and brought it down into the Pantoran's mangled limb, grinding his boot into flesh and bone. He felt deep satisfaction as the creature’s eye widened, as he screamed in agony with every movement. The Force purred with each twitch of the fool underneath him.

The Concordian leaned over, cupping the man's face with his hand, gently caressing F'rkor’s cheek. “Call me if you need me. I tend to be a deep sleeper so you may need to …” Obi-wan grinned maniacally, “ _scream_.” 

The Jedi released the man’s face and stood upright, brushing a few stray pieces of dirt from his own jumpsuit, taking his time to rearrange his clothing from its disheveled state. Obi-wan glanced outside, past the ray shield. It seemed that either no one had heard the commotion or that no one cared.

Minutes passed and the lights of each cell dimmed one by one as the mandatory lights out was announced. F'rkor’s whimpers grew fainter and fainter, until the room was filled with a deathly silence. 

The Force, which had been so furious only a few moments before, had damped to a slow churn, still basking in the glow of the released tension. For the first time in weeks, Obi-wan could feel no headaches, no tension in his muscles, no need to artificially focus his thoughts.

And  _the release..._ to finally allow that inner creature free, to finally realize the extent of his own abilities. The rush of pleasure was unlike any he had ever known. 

He was quickly coming to realize how easy it would be to hide behind the face of Rako Hardeen. How easy it would be to... _indulge_ himself. How the Code was quickly ceasing to exist in this place, in this person he inhabited. 

_~Obi-wan, don’t.~_ The deep, familiar voice called to him. 

_Why shouldn’t I?_ He shot back, with not a small amount of bitterness. _Haven’t I done everything the Council has asked? Aren’t I doing what they want right now? Acting the criminal? Protecting the mission?_

But Obi-wan felt the stirrings of panic as the euphoria of the moment began to fade. His stomach churned and his legs nearly buckled under him. The room began to swim and Obi-wan held out a hand to steady himself on a nearby wall. The red warmth that had filled his mind was now replaced by a cold, black anxiety.  _Oh Force, what have I done?_

_~If you continue down this path, you’ll only find darkness.~_

He grit his teeth. _No, I am a Jedi_ , he protested. _I am merely doing my duty._

Obi-wan waited for a reassuring word, something that would allow him to believe that he was acting in the best interests of the Council, of the mission, of the Order. 

It never came. 

The only thing that reached his ears was the pitiful coughs and spluttering of the prone form across the room. 

_~You need to finish it.~_

The other voice. The one that purred, that chilled his skin, that drank from his anger. The one that guided him, taught him how use his emotions, to not release, not until it was time. 

The other him. 

Obi-wan trembled. They were right. The man was as good as dead. It would be an act of mercy. Didn't Jedi show mercy? Wasn't that part of the Code? And besides, the clones would find F'rkor tomorrow when he didn’t show up for breakfast and undoubtedly there would be questions. If he lived, the Pantoran might unveil everything. And then what would have been the point of any of this? 

_I would have broken Anakin’s trust for absolutely nothing._

And that was unacceptable.

Obi-wan felt for the Force again. Its earlier tumult had ceased, only the echoes of his earlier outburst present in the quivering energy, the delicate lattice of frozen tendrils he saw in his mind's eye, dripping with red...

It was horrible. It was beautiful.

Before Obi-wan knew what he was doing, he extended his right hand, the same hand that held the deep scars of the previous weeks. The one that bled and bled in sacrifice for his meditation, his focus. 

His power. 

He curled his fist. 

A short series of convulsions. Desperate wheezing. The strands of the Pantoran's life unraveled faster and faster, until only a single thin string was left. Obi-wan waited, holding the Pantoran's fate in his hand, relishing the unholy power, the control he had over the man, over life itself. 

He closed his fist.

_ Snap. _

The soft _thud_ of a body falling over on the floor. 

F'rkor was dead. 

A quiet euphoria rang through the Jedi’s blood. The Force did not sing nor did it roar. It only curled around him in the embrace of a lover, before quietly settling in his sternum. 

His mind was blank. He stared at his right hand, still outstretched, as if it were not his own. There were no thoughts, no guilt, no self-recriminations. Just a certain uneasy content that was far overshadowed by the wave of intense exhaustion that washed over the Jedi. Obi-wan collapsed on his bed, and fell into a deep, deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Obes, don't _do_ it! Honestly!
> 
> _(dewwwwwwit)_
> 
> Some dialogue taken from Season 4, Episode 15: "Deception"
> 
>  Chapter 8 preview: Obi-wan has a really weird dream, Yoda is home rethinking his life, and Padmé nearly spills some very controversial beans to Ahsoka...
> 
> We'll be leaving the prison very soon, I assure you all. Getting closer to going to Serenno!
> 
> Stop by and say hi on my Tumblr @legobiwan if you feel like it!


	8. Chapter 8

_Blue._

_The world had submersed itself in a veritable rainbow of blue. Waves rode out from the middle, out towards a never-ending horizon. Cobalt, azure, cerulean - every shade, every iteration of blue. An entire spectrum leading all the way to the cyans and teals at the very furthest reaches of his senses, out towards that distant, distant horizon._

_He was floating, swimming, but there was no water around him, only the blue. Obi-wan lifted an arm, inspecting the sleeve of his tunic, feeling it with his opposite hand._

_Dry as a Tatooine desert._

_The waves ebbed and rolled around him, but made no sound. They caressed him silently, enveloped him, as if he were being held in the arms of the mother he never knew._

_He bobbed with the pulses, up and down, right and left, allowing the undulations of the blue expanse to lead him along. Directions were inconsequential. They did not exist here, only the blue did, only the distant horizon, which never drew closer, which kept itself out of reach._

_No thoughts, no worries, no directions- the Jedi allowed himself to relax, kicking his legs up so he was lying flat on his back, as if he was floating on top of a lake._

_Safety. Security._

_No need for questions._

_Time passed. How much, he couldn’t have said. He idly wondered as to where he was, what his ultimate destination was, about what held this blue abundance that seemed to never end._

_He decided it didn't matter._

_The bobbing continued, rhythmic, never deviating from its pattern -_

_Bump, roll, bump, bump, roll, over._

_Bump, roll, bump, bump, roll, over._

_Bump, roll, bump, bump, roll, over._

_Bump, roll, bump, bump, roll, roll, over._

_Obi-wan’s eyes flashed open. Something had changed._

_The Jedi righted himself, treading in the blue._

_The horizon had moved closer. The cyans and teals were no longer visible in the distance._

_He shivered with the absence of the lighter hues._

_The absence of warmth._

_The pattern of undulations shifted again - bump, roll, bump, over, roll, roll, over - and the horizon drew even closer._

_Once again, the spectrum of blues darkened. Once again he trembled with the loss of that light._

_Obi-wan bobbed nervously along with the blue, faster and faster - bumprollbumpoverrollrollover._

_An icy fear gripped his heart. He couldn’t move._

_The blue, which was now nearly the color of midnight, began to freeze._

_He turned his head this way and that, looking for an escape, but there was none. The horizon, which had once been so far, was moving closer and closer on all sides, pushing the blue over his head, trapping him some form of frigid slush._

_His lungs ached for air, his muscles for movement as the substance began to coalesce around him, inch by inch, to hard, impenetrable ice._

_Obi-wan was being swallowed whole._

_He fought and fought, cutting himself on the now razor-edged shards, his blood swirling with the blue, creating a sickly indigo._

_His vision began to fuzz, the inexorable march of final darkness creeping in from the sides. The last thing he saw was the outline of the geometric crystal that trapped him -_  

He crashed, face-down, onto the hard, transparasteel surface.

Obi-wan gasped for breath.

He was alive.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he opened his eyes, rubbing his head where it had struck the ground. He looked to one side. 

A bed on a metal frame. His bed. Rako Hardeen's bed.

He looked to the other side. 

A pair of lifeless eyes. A face that, although unmoving, seemed to still be giving him a sly grin, as though it had won the final round, even in death. 

His panic returned.  _What have I done?_

Obi-wan pulled his knees in front of him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He cradled head in his hands, momentarily forgetting about his shields, about his mission, about everything else except the body in front of him. 

He had killed. 

It wasn’t the first time he had taken a life, not by any means. Even before the war, before his Knighthood, he had ended lives. But it had always been in self-defense, a final resort in a situation where only one person would walk out alive, when taking another life was the only option against death.

His fingers clawed at his forehead.

The war had blurred all definitions. The corpses of the dead, of his kills, had piled higher and higher. Not only of droids, but of sentients, too. He had tried to avoid it, they all had. But in the heat of battle, when so much was at stake - what could they do? Oh, he had tried to ignore the adrenaline rush, the sense of _achievement_ when stalking across a war zone, victorious, the blood of so many on his hands. And he knew it was not only him - Obi-wan had felt it in his fellow Jedi, as well. They were not immune to the glories of war any more than he was. 

But none of them had killed in cold-blood. None of them had outstretched their arm and called upon the Force, feeling the life seep slowly out of their victim. 

None of them had felt the deep satisfaction that came from such an action. 

Obi-wan looked up at F'rkor. He clenched a fist. 

_What was I to have done?_ With only one tidbit of information, one _name_ , the Pantoran had known too much, was too much much of a danger to allow to roam free. 

Once again Obi-wan had found himself in an impossible situation. Once again he had promised to fulfill his duty to the Jedi Order, to follow the Code. 

And once again he had chipped away at something inside himself to do so. 

He heard the distinct _whirring_ of the clone guard’s hovercraft in the distance. 

Obi-wan swallowed, steadying himself on the bed frame as he stood. He had to move quickly.

He took F'rkor’s corpse in his arms, lifting it to the elevated bed. The Pantoran’s limbs stuck out at unnatural angles, swaying in the air, bones crunching with the movement. Obi-wan retched, nearly dropping the body on the floor as his stomach tried to expel anything it may have contained, as if it were trying to exorcise his actions of the previous night. 

Again and again, he spasmed violently. Nothing but pain, nothing but a waste of precious time. Finally, it ended and Obi-wan set F'rkor on the bed, quickly covering him with sheets. 

The Jedi wiped the spit from his mouth, tried to rub any blood from his skin and jumpsuit. He wished he could set fire to his very soul, to burn away the rot he felt growing inside him. 

“Alright, Hardeen, time for breakfast,” the clone greeted as soon as the ray shield was deactivated. 

Obi-wan grunted at the clones but didn’t fight. He had no desire for a confrontation now, not when he couldn't be sure he would not repeat his actions of the previous night. No, he had no desire to call upon the Force right now. 

They walked towards the hovercraft. A pause. “Where’s your friend?” asked one of the guards, his voice shaded with suspicion. 

Obi-wan didn't answer.

"Hey, I asked you a question. Where's the Pantoran?" an edge crept into the clone's voice. 

The Force was still in chaos around him, thrashing this way and that. Just one mind trick, that was all he needed. He didn't need all his power for it, he could avoid... 

Obi-wan held out a hand, concentrating furiously. 

“ _He’s already gone to breakfast. You took him down 10 minutes ago.”_  

The clones froze for a second, and then turned towards him. 

“What are you talking about, scum? Why are you standing like that?” They began to advance towards the Jedi. 

_Blast it!_ He didn't want to draw on it again. Didn't want to acknowledge that his connection to the Force was no longer purely Light. That it contained a spectrum, just as in his dream, of dark and light. 

Of blue tinged with red.

Despair came over the Jedi. _Perhaps I should just allow this to happen._ Everything was compounding upon itself so quickly. Every time he thought he had adjusted for the situation, something changed. Every move he made was the wrong move and he was beginning to doubt his most basic instincts. The Force was clouded, shifting violently between violet and blue spectra. Time slowed to a crawl.

He could allow the plan to fail. Allow the Chancellor to be kidnapped. They would probably be able to thwart the kidnapping attempt, even if it meant a hit on the reputation of the Order. He would eventually be released from prison. Brought to trial in front of the Council. At the very least stripped of his title if not expelled from the Order altogether. 

Obi-wan teetered on the knife-edge of indecision. Wouldn't it be better to stop now, before it was too late? 

_~Wouldn’t it feel *so good* to tap into that power again?~_

Obi-wan had to keep himself from groaning in pleasure. It _had_ felt good, after so many years, to finally _release._ To not wrap himself in layers of layers of code and duty.

To finally fulfill his full potential.

Something flashed in the Jedi’s eyes. 

He held up his hand again, this time reaching fully for the Force, for  _everything_ it now contained - the light, the dark, the ice...

“ _F'rkor already went to breakfast. You took him down 10 minutes ago.”_

The clones halted mid-step, their voices strange, almost robotic.

“F'rkor already went to breakfast. We took him own 10 minutes ago.”

Obi-wan smiled. 

_“You will take me to breakfast now. There is no need to inspect this cell further.”_

“We will take you to breakfast now. There is no need to inspect this cell further.”

The clones stood still for a moment and then shook their heads. One stood on either side of him, taking an arm.

“Come on, Hardeen.”

The Force hummed with approval. 

 

* * *

 

He sat in the dark, his short legs arranged in a butterfly-style in front of him. His clawed feet touched one another, sole-to-sole, and his similarly clawed hands sat on his thighs, palms up, in a gesture of receiving.

The small troll’s eyes were closed, but it wouldn’t have mattered either way. The room was pitch dark, devoid of even the tiniest hint of light. 

A hundred years ago, he would have scolded himself. Jedi did not _need_ the dark to meditate deeply, should not need the dark.

But so much had changed, even on Coruscant. Even within the Temple walls themselves. 

Yoda reached out into the Force, his signature melding itself, molding itself to its surroundings. He felt for the sources of luminescence that inhabited the Temple - the bright, joyous bulbs that bounced up and down - the younglings, so full of energy, so full of joy. They had not yet been touched by the war.  The Padawan learners - more tempered than the younglings, but still exuding a kind of florescence, a certain lack of discipline that would coalesce as they aged, as they trained. The Knights and Masters - so different were they each, such individual patterns of radiance.

He had heard the criticisms - there are no personalities in the Jedi Order. They are too distant, too secluded to care about the plight of the common person, to be able to relate to anyone outside the Temple. Yoda shook his head - that was not true. Each Jedi that passed through the Temple was an individual, their Force signature reflecting their own talents, tastes, quirks. Secluded, perhaps, but not without good reason - the threat to the Jedi, to everybody, was too large if one of them were to fall. While perhaps strict, their ways had seen thousands of years of peace, thousands of years without the Sith. And to not care? That accusation always puzzled Yoda the most. Compassion was at the center of the Jedi Code. Without compassion, without that respect for all life, where would they be?

But to care too much, to value one life - one Knight, one Master, one Padawan over the rest - no, that was not the Jedi way. That led to attachment, which led to...

Yoda shifted slightly in his seat, uneasy. He had seen the cracks in the Order, made all the more prominent by the recent stresses of the war. The resurgence of the Sith had exposed them, laid bare their vulnerabilities. It had been so easy to believe they were in the right, too easy, when peace was all the Jedi knew. 

Had they gone too far?

Perhaps, perhaps not. But to change course in the middle of this conflict...

No, that was not possible. 

Yoda strengthened his concentration, reaching out beyond the walls of the Temple, feeling for the millions of bustling life forms that made up the capital. The Senate buzzed with nervous apprehension - the edges of the building slinking along the dark corners of the Force with back-room dealings and double-crossing. The streets undulated with late-night carousing, the every day life of a populace not yet affected by a conflict on the far side of the galaxy. The lower levels, though - they knew the price of the war. Refugees, criminals, bounty hunters - desperation and greed fed the shades of those who lived beneath the ground, where the natural light never shined.

And the omnipresent shadow - the dark that shrouded the center of the city, that had even begun to seep into the Jedi Temple itself...

He had spent hours, days trying to penetrate it, to poke at some kind of weakness to find the source of that subtle, malevolent veil.

But each time he thought he broke through, he found himself on the other side, right back where he had started, looking in from the outside. The answers, he felt, were tantalizingly out of reach, but Yoda knew enough that to force issue would be to push himself even further away. And so he was patient. 

The Jedi Master drew his senses inwards. The Force was uneasy, and not just because of the undefinable dark. The Republic's government was more and more consolidating around one man's actions, one man's wishes, and the Jedi were more and more beholden to him and the Senate. 

It shouldn't be that way. Yes, Ruusan had allowed the Republic greater oversight of the Order, but for it to have gone this far, for them to have to ignore planets that were plunged into poverty, civil war,  slavery, and a whole host of other social ills for the whims of the Senate...

But what could be done? Their budget was the Republic's budget, their army the Republic's army - and to consider leaving the Republic now, of seceding, when so many lives hung in the balance, when the Sith had returned - the Force shuddered. No, it could not be. Their fates were intertwined with the Republic's - that much was clear to Yoda. 

It was perhaps because of these grave circumstances that the Council had agreed to undercover operation of Obi-wan Kenobi. 

The best option of a bunch of terrible options, Mace had said when they had first considered the plan. A plan that had been born from multiple meetings with the Chancellor, meetings that covered his security, his safety in increasingly dangerous times. They had informed the Republic leader of the kidnapping plot, had talked about various strategies, had argued for the cancellation of the ceremonies on Naboo. But Palpatine could not be swayed, going so far as to lay the seeds for the plan that Mace and Yoda had ultimately decided upon. 

It struck Yoda as strange.

A dangerous undertaking, one with great risks and great rewards, if successful - perhaps a turning point in the war itself. And who better than Obi-wan Kenobi to assign to this most delicate mission? Kenobi was one of their best, the youngest Jedi to be elected to the Council, an esteemed military leader, a peerless negotiator, and yet -

Too many burdens, the man had been forced to carry. And despite it all, he still shone with the light. But Yoda knew that even Kenobi had his weaknesses, that he cared far more than his restrained exterior would show. Cared to a fault. Yoda worried about the intersection of those burdens and his attachments, his absolute devotion to Skywalker. Wondered if the Council had crossed an invisible line in asking all they had from him. 

Yoda let out a soft grunt. _No._ _Knows the dangers of attachment, he does. Duty, in the end, he will return to._

It did little to settle the feelings of unease in the old master’s chest. 

Yoda sighed. _Heading down a dark path, we are,_ he had told Mace.

Accusations of complacency, of hypocrisy made long ago echoed in his thoughts. Accusations his former student had lobbed against him before he had left the Order. Before he had turned to the Dark Side.

Yoda took a long breath and held it. He had come to accept Dooku’s betrayal, but even within the wizened old Master, there was a small wound that ached every time he thought of the brilliant, young man he had trained.  

_Exhale._  The air came rushing out of his mouth, and with it any remaining emotions associated with the now-Sith Lord. There was nothing he could do about it. Accept the situation, he must, and let go of everything else. He delved deeper into the Force, retracting his senses from the outside world...

_A young Padawan, dressed in black, hooded, making her way down a dark Coruscant alley. A meeting. Outsiders. “The Jedi have become corrupt.” Her voice…_

_Red haze. Anger. Loss. A tattooed man. “Brother?” he called._

_A familiar signature. Dooku, sitting at the head of an elaborate dinner table. He looked at a second, unseen man dining next to him, eyes beaming with greed, with approval. With victory._

_A forest of crystals, each burning with red from the inside. They trembled. Footsteps in the snow. The shadow of a familiar copper-headed man, his skin a deathly pale, his eyes wild, shining as if he were fevered. He threw out his hands and the crystals shattered violently, hurling their shards -_

Yoda opened his eyes. It was an unsettling series of visions, and did nothing to set the old troll’s concerns at ease.

_Always in motion, the future is._

Another prod from the Force. This one closer, more insistent. 

He took his gimmer stick and hopped off the round meditation pad, walking slowly to the communication unit on the opposite side of the room, turning on the lights with the Force as he went. 

He punched a button. 

“Master Windu?”

Crackling, shouting in the background. 

_“Yes, Master?”_

“A communication, I believe we will receive. To the Council Chambers, please come. As soon as you can.”

There was no hesitation. _“Yes, Master. I’m on my way. Windu out.”_

Yoda stared out the window into the Coruscant night. 

_Always in motion…_

 

* * *

 

“Oh, Mistress Tano. Do come in.” The golden protocol droid waved a stilted arm of welcome behind him, bowing slightly. He opened the sliding door a touch wider for the young Togruta to enter the lavish apartment of the Senator from Naboo. 

Ahsoka allowed Threepio to lead her through the vestibule into the large, spacious living room. The first thing that struck her attention, that caught her notice every time she visited this apartment, was the large window overlooking the busy skyline of Coruscant. It shouldn’t have been so unique for her - after all, the Jedi Temple had similar windows. But somehow the senator’s apartment, whether by physical location or the presence of the woman herself, held a kind of magical quality, an other-worldliness that captivated the young Jedi. 

_No wonder Skyguy is always over here._

She tore her eyes away from the magnificent view as she heard the soft footsteps of the Naboo Senator.

“Ahsoka, I’m so glad you could come.” 

Padmé was clad in an elegant dress of forest green, a silken material that shimmered when the light caught it just right. Her auburn hair, which was often set in the traditional and very ornate styles of the ancient Naboo royalty, was pulled back in a simple ponytail that cascaded down her back. Even in this informal setting, Padmé had the ability to light up a room with her presence. 

“Threepio, could you please bring us some drinks?” she asked quietly. 

“Of course, Madame Padmé,” he replied as the prissy droid tottered out into the kitchen. 

Ahsoka considered the Senator for a moment. For all of her seemingly effortless beauty, she looked tired. There were dark circles under the woman’s eyes, and if Ahsoka looked close enough, she could just make out a tinge of red around the whites of her eyes. 

“Please, sit down Ahsoka.”

The young Jedi walked to the nearest of the two cream-colored couches that faced each other in front of the large window, taking a seat. Padmé took a place next to her, not quite allowing herself to get comfortable. A small table separated one couch from the other.

Threepio clattered in with the tray of drinks, nearly upending the entire table in his  haste to bring the tea before it was “one degree below the proper serving temperature.” Only Ahsoka’s quick reflexes and a bit of Force manipulation saved the day. The large teapot hovered in mid-air, making splashing noises as the liquid within sloshed back and forth.

“I am ever so sorry, Madame Padmé. I can go a make another one right now - “

The Senator held up a weary hand and gave a half-hearted smile. “It’s okay, Threepio. Everything’s fine thanks to Ahsoka. You can go shut down for a while, I’m not expecting any further company.”

Ahsoka could tell the droid was disappointed. “Well, if you must. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Really…” the metallic voice faded and Ahsoka was once again left alone with the Senator.  Padmé considered her cup of tea, holding it close to her mouth without taking a sip, as if she were somewhere else entirely. 

Ahsoka was unsettled at Padmé's quietness. Despite the slight age difference between the two women, she had come to find herself growing closer to the Nabooian Senator since her apprenticeship with Anakin began. They had been through a lot together, on various missions and diplomatic meetings, and had even almost died together, thanks to the Blue Shadow Virus. It was because of this closeness, this friendship, that she felt the first tendrils of unease at Padmé's uncharacteristic behavior.

“How are you doing, Ahsoka?”

The young Togruta was expecting the question, but somehow it still surprised her. 

“I…” she trailed off. 

_How_ _am I doing?_

Ahsoka could give the stock Jedi answer. Say something about Obi-wan being one with the Force, releasing her feelings, ignoring her misgivings about her Master.

But somehow that didn’t seem _right,_ even if it was the “Jedi way.”

“…I don’t know, Senator.” The truth tumbled out of her mouth before she even knew it. “Tired. Sad.” 

Padmé held her tea cup in both hands in her lap, looking down. “And Ana - “ she swallowed, still speaking in the direction of her lap, “and Master Skywalker?”

She hesitated before verbalizing her worries about Skyguy. There was more to the relationship between the Senator and her Master than just being “friends,” she knew that. Kriff, the entire 501st knew that. But Ahsoka never quite knew how far to push things with Padmé - she enjoyed the growing trust that was forming between them, but on the few occasions she had strayed anywhere near her relationship with Anakin, she was immediately, if politely, rebuffed.

Ahsoka cringed internally. How much should she tell Padmé? Did she already know about Hardeen’s arrest? About how her Master had come within a hair’s breath of running the Concordian through with his lightsaber in cold blood? How his Force presence burned dangerously, like an out-of-control supernova?

“He’s…” she looked down. “…not taking it well.” 

That was an understatement. 

The Senator nodded in understanding, still lost in her own thoughts. Ahsoka was about to ask if Skyguy had been to see her at all, when Padmé suddenly set her cup down on the table. 

In an instant, her whole demeanor had changed, as if she had come to some kind of momentous decision. She took Ahsoka’s hands in her own. 

“Listen, Ahsoka. I’m - “she faltered. “I’m not a Jedi, and I can’t pretend to understand certain things about the Order, certain parts of the Force. But I know when Anakin is angry, when he’s upset.”

Ahsoka noted the change from “Master Skywalker” to “Anakin," but didn't react. 

“He’s…he’s very angry right now, Ahsoka. He came - “ her eyes widened. “We talked, after the funeral. After Hardeen’s arrest. I’ve only seen him that angry once before and…”

For the first time ever Ahsoka saw true fear in Padmé Amidala’s eyes. 

The Senator quickly stood up, dropping Ahsoka’s hands to walk towards the window. The young Jedi was uncertain as to what she should do. The Force was nudging her to press Padmé for more information. It was telling her that there was some information of life-and-death importance that Padmé had, something that might change everything.

Tentatively, the young Togruta stood up. 

“Senator Amidala, you don’t have to tell me anything. But - “ she watched Padmé’s shoulders tense, “you’re right. I’m worried about Anakin. He’s angry and upset.” 

Padmé whirled around. “Don’t tell me that he doesn’t have a right to be,” her voice suddenly icy.

Ahsoka shook her head. Of course he had a right to be upset. And should have a right to grieve Obi-wan properly, not to be forced to release his emotions in a way that was too rushed for Ahsoka’s liking. 

“I don’t believe that at all, Senator. The Council - they maybe haven’t given him the time he needs to mourn. But he’s just - “ 

_What, Ahsoka? Scary? Terrifying?_

“ - unbalanced,” she found herself saying. 

“More than usual?” Padmé asked.

Ahsoka froze. “I - “

Before she could finish her sentence, the door to the apartment crashed open, and a livid Anakin Skywalker came stalking through. 

“Padmé, they’ve found - “ 

He froze, his eyes as wide as saucers. 

_“Ahsoka?_ What are you doing here?” 

Her mouth opened but no words came out. _I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be seeing this, oh Force…_ She could feel the unspoken accusations of her Master hurtling at her through the Force. 

“I invited her,Anakin,” Padmé quickly intervened. 

The older Jedi rounded quickly, he eyebrows furrowing in anger. “Why?” he demanded.

Padmé straightened, all previous doubt and sadness now absent from her posture. “I don’t need to justify my actions to you, _Master Skywalker,_ ” her voice as cold as Hoth. “I merely wanted to inquire after Ahsoka’s well-being over a cup of tea.” Her eyes narrowed. _“_ I’m certain you could understand that.”

They stared at each other for a good minute. Ahsoka was sure that her Master would respond with another angry statement. 

To her surprise, he took a step back, losing maybe a small fraction of the indignation he had been directing towards the two women. 

“Of course, _Senator._ That’s very kind of you." There was no mistaking the underlying tension in the words.

_A very, very small fraction of indignation_ , she thought. 

Anakin turned away from the Senator. “Anyway, Ahsoka, get your things, we’re leaving for Nal Hutta.”

Ahsoka’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait! What? Why?”

“Rako Hardeen’s escaped from jail and they’re heading towards Nal Hutta. The Council,” he spat, “took the bounty off the escaped prisoners, but I’m not going to let them off that easy.” 

Ahsoka shivered. “Does the Council - “

The Force surged in heat. “ _Kriff the Council, Ahsoka._ Landing pad. Now.”

There was no way she was going to be able to convince Anakin otherwise, Ahsoka knew that. Her only choice was to follow her Master and hope she could at least be a calming influence. At least make sure he didn't do anything...terrible.

Anakin gave one last glare to Padmé. “Senator,” he said darkly, before stalking out of the room.

“Ahsoka,” she whispered urgently, catching Ahsoka's hand once more. “Keep an eye on him.”

Her forehead creased and her montrails twitched in anxiety. 

“I will, Senator.”

Padmé opened her mouth as if to say more, but thought better of it. “May the Force be with you, Ahsoka.”

The young Jedi nodded, steeling herself for what was to come. 

 

* * *

 

“But why did Obi- I mean Ben, need the extra credits?”

Ki-Adi Mundi stood near the edge of the communications consul in the strategy planning room of the Council Tower, arms crossed, his face marked by confusion. 

Mace sighed. He wondered if he would ever be able to get rid of the spasms in his lower back that that had only intensified since the start of the Hardeen operation. He made a mental note to visit Vokara Che later on in the day. 

“Our communication was, of necessity, brief,” the Korun Jedi began. “He mentioned something about needing to buy a ship.” 

The other Jedi were silent, but their skepticism rang through the Force. Those on missions were usually kept on strict retainers - the Order’s funds weren’t unlimited and since the start of the war, the Republic had been stingy about allocating anything that didn’t go directly to the front lines.

“I assume, then, that we will have to use some degree of…discretion in how we deliver this money to our operative on Nal Hutta.” The Cerelean Jedi Master did not sound thrilled at the prospect of having to launder money through the backchannels of the Republic to support Obi-wan’s seemingly impulsive decision to break out of jail.

Mace was _really_ going to need that medication later on. “Yes. We’ll be using a contact of Obi-wan’s - a Besalisk diner owner in the lower levels - to send the money.”

They all fell silent for a moment, mulling the new information. Mace held in a sigh. Obi-wan did have a disturbing tendency to fall in with small-time criminals and pirates. 

“A more pressing matter than money, we have.” The elder, green Jedi Master spoke up.

And now the Korun Jedi really did have a headache forming. “Skywalker.”

Yoga grunted in agreement. “Know, he does, of the criminal’s escape. Learn of their destination, he might.”

Mace bit his lip. It _was_ what Obi-wan had warned them about, one of the main reasons the man had had reservations about the mission. 

 “We had better get Skywalker in here ASAP before he does something - “ s _tupid_ , Mace thought, “ - ill-advised.”

The other three Jedi nodded. Mace clicked the “on” button of the communications unit, signaling Anakin’s personal comm. 

“Skywalker, come in please. We need a status report.” His voice was curt. 

They waited a minute. Silence. 

Mace grit his teeth. “Skywalker, come in _now._ ” 

Still nothing. 

The Korun Jedi was about to try again when Plo Koon stopped him.

“Try Capitan Rex. Perhaps Skyalkwaer is…busy,” the Kel Dor’s tone of voice reflected the fact that he did not completely believe his own assertion. 

Mace pushed the number in.

“Capitain Rex, I need to speak with General Skywalker. He’s not responding to my calls.”

The Chancellor had requested Skywalker's services as a bodyguard once news of the jailbreak had reached the government offices.  _If_ Skywalker had followed orders, he would be with Rex and some other members of the 501st right now. 

“Sir,” the voice of Jango Fett, one that Mace had hoped to never hear again, echoed over the link. “General Skywalker is unavailable.”

Mace’s blood pressure spiked.

“ _Where is he captain?_ ” 

“I can’t say, sir.” 

“You can’t or you won’t - “

A familiar, urbane voice interrupted the Jedi. “Anakin is on Nal Hutta.”

_Kriff._ Plo Koon crossed his arms and Ki-Adi immediately took his chin in his hand. The only person in the room to not immediately respond to the unwelcome news was Yoda, who stared down at the floor, deep in thought. 

Mace hoped he had heard wrong. “Nal Hutta?”

“Protecting me is only postponing the problem, not solving it,” Palpatine replied, slightly chiding. 

“With all due respect, Chancellor, the Council _has_ a plan in place.” Oh, how is head was absolutely  _pounding_ now. He leaned forward to relieve some of the pain in his lower back. 

“Yes, and so does Moralo Eval, who seems to be several steps ahead of you.” Mace gripped the communications console. “For that reason, I asked Anakin to take action. He is confident he can find the fugitives and stop this plot against me. I suggest you have more faith in young Skywalker.” The Chancellor turned to Rex. “Captain, if you must escort me home, I’m leaving now.”

Mace ended the transmission. Silence filled the room. There was a slight knocking noise from the walls - the droids hadn’t fixed the heating system yet. He would need to put in a maintenance order. Again. 

_Skywalker is unbalanced, but would he really…_

“This is exactly what Obi-wan didn’t want to happen.” Plo Koon's voice was uncharacteristically dark. 

Mace pinched the bridge of his nose with his hand. “If we warn him, we could blow his cover, get him killed.” 

Yoda said something under his breath. “Kill Hardeen, Skywalker might. Or die trying, he may.”

Mace’s eyes widened. 

“Overdue the truth is.”

_What have we done_ , he wondered darkly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 preview: Obi-wan is on Nal Hutta and we are now back where we began. There are some shady business deals, Anakin deals a literal low blow to Obi-wan, and our favorite Jedi receives some very unwanted news about his next destination...
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr! @legobiwan
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting, friends!


	9. Chapter 9

“Another round?” The Twi’lek server appeared at his side, eyeing the datapad he held in his hands, a small crinkle of distaste forming when she realized that she could neither read the device nor sell it for any real profit.

He shook his head in response, keeping his gaze on the object in front of him. After a moment she walked away, and Obi-wan was grateful for the solitude. 

The Force…buzzed around him, insistent, more aggressive than it had ever had been. His near outburst…

There was a vibration in his pocket, followed by a faint series of beeps. The credits had been transferred from the Council. Now there was just the matter of acquiring the physical _ingots_ and a smattering of other currencies to tide him over until Eval and Bane made it back to Bilbousa. He reached his hand down and fingered the credit key through material in his pants - the Republic crytpo-currency, while essential in the Core, would be an immediate red flag to anyone on the criminal-infested planet. Republic currency meant nothing in the Outer Rim, and Obi-wan needed a quick way to turn his electronic currency into something a bit more tangible.

Fortunately, he had noticed that the pawn shop where Bane had terrorized the owners not more than three days ago had a conversion station hidden in the back, one that most likely served as a terminal for bounty hunters, gangsters, and other unsalient types. Bane had declared that Pablo’s Pawn Shop had everything a bounty hunter needed, and Obi-wan was sure that extended to a place where stolen or fraudulent Republic keys could be used to acquire real currency. 

He felt the shadows of two jagged Force signatures at the edges of his mind.

_They’re coming. Finally._

The Jedi placed the data pad carefully in a secure pocket of his vest and descended the stairs of the elevated cantina patio to the now-bustling city. Bilbousa had shed its layers of smog and lethargy in the mid-day sun as the streets crowded with a motley array of species, vehicles, and Hutt henchmen.

Obi-wan scowled and made his way down the main avenue. He ignored the shrill calls from vendors hawking their overpriced, shoddy wares from the side of the road. He ignored the half-hearted propositions and caresses from scantily-clad prostitutes who, by the presence of their shock collars, he knew to be working against their will. He ignored the men and women whose shabby appearance was just a touch too contrived, whose demeanor ever-so-slightly betrayed their upper-class, Coruscanti origins - representatives of the Republic who sought money and power through the backchannels of the Hutts.

He bit his lip with such ferocity that he nearly drew blood. The sooner he left this planet, the better. The Jedi had seen enough corruption for a lifetime and in a wonderful stroke of irony, was duty-bound to ignore it all - both as Rako Hardeen, callous bounty hunter and murderer, and as Obi-wan Kenobi, servant to the Senate’s whims, Jedi, and murd-

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” A speeder zoomed around him, engines spewing black smoke, kicking up dust in its wake.

Obi-wan clenched his fists, already encasing his frustration and anxiety within the crystalline vessels that he had cultivated within himself. He could not afford to get distracted by the dictates of the Jedi, of the Code. He swallowed, the vocal emulator scratching the sensitive flesh of his inner throat. F'rkor had been a necessity, a dangerous loose end in a situation that was rapidly spinning out of control.And hadn’t he avoided killing the clones during their escape, at the risk of blowing his cover as the Jedi-killer Rako Hardeen?

Obi-wan rubbed his jaw where Bane had punched him on the ship. He had plead a blaster jam. It was a flimsy excuse at best, and he knew that Bane didn’t believe him. 

It was the first and last time he would be able to pull off that particular deceit. 

The din of activity around him increased as Obi-wan approached the bulbous structure that was Pablo’s Pawn Shop.Like most places on Nal Hutta, the shop featured a cantina in front, which was full of activity despite the relatively early hour.A group of Jawas were gathered near the entrance, possibly to engage in trade, but most likely lying in wait to pickpocket a drunken patron.

Obi-wan put his helmet on. The last time he had been in here with Eval and Hardeen, there had been a bit of a scene, and the Rodian shopkeeper had called on the Hutt clan’s henchmen to sort things out. The Jedi didn’t need a repeat of that incident - and incident which had seen him captured and interrogated by a malicious, but ultimately stupid set of Nikto that cared only for credits.

At least they had been useful in tracking down Bane and Eval. For the right price.

But Obi-wan was now out of credits, and he needed to get to that terminal. The Force was becoming more urgent, more agitated and he knew he had little time before Bane and Eval made their return. He hit a button and entered the building, the doors sliding shut behind him. 

The shop was the same as it had been a few days ago - dark, dingy, and chock-full of black-market items.  Poorly constructed shelving lined every wall, and much of the area in the middle. Helmets, clothing, weaponry, and more were tossed about with little care.  No one came out to greet him when he entered, which was just fine by the Jedi. The less attention he attracted, the fewer questions he would receive.

Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-wan caught the figure of Pablo, the simpering Rodian shopkeeper, coming his way. In one swift move, he dived behind a set of crates near the back of the store. There was too much risk in being recognized by Pablo, even with his helmet.

He peered over the edge of the crate as the Rodian disappeared behind the counter. Obi-wan had not seen this part of the store last time, but something about it was...familiar. He reached out through the Force, trying to locate the source. Something here was important, vitally important. Obi-wan tried to ignore the strange sensations - the chill in his spine, the way his mind’s eye seemed to be looking at everything through an oddly-colored filter…

The door swung open and the strange hooded man from the morning walked in, holding the same small brown package Obi-wan had seen him with earlier.

Pablo emerged from the back, slamming a hand down on the counter in greeting. “You killed my cousin!” he exclaimed, the warble in his voice contrasting with his surprisingly strong words.

The hooded figure said nothing, but reached across the counter with one long arm, grabbing the Rodian by the collar with his clawed hand, yanking him forward.  “He tried to swindle my client,” the harsh voice answered while pulling Pablo closer. “And my client does not take kindly to such things.” The hooded figure produced a blaster from his robes which he held at the Rodian’s throat.

Pablo whimpered, his hands trembling on the counter. The hooded man tightened his grip of the Rodian’s collar, pressing the blaster further into Pablo's neck - and then let go. “Now, you wouldn’t be wanting to pull any of that on me, would you, Pablo?”

The Rodian only shook his head in response, wheezing and coughing as he tried to regain his breath. 

“Good.” The man set the brown package on the counter. “This needs to go to our contact on Coruscant. The usual treatment.”

Pablo readjusted his collar, still clearing his throat. He picked up the parcel, testing its weight, measuring its dimensions. “Hmm,” his voice now mostly steady, “I’ll need to unwrap this if we’re going to give it the usual treatment.” 

The hooded man’s hand strayed to the blaster he had reholstered. “Fine. Just make sure it gets to where it needs to go,” he answered impatiently.

Obi-wan watched the Rodian slowly unwrap the item as if it was booby-trapped, as if it it might explode at any second. The Jedi found himself more and more intrigued. While it wasn’t surprising that a small pawn shop on Nal Hutta would serve as a front for smuggling like this, Obi-wan wondered why the seemingly small and innocuous object would carry such importance. Especially considering the fact that it was due for Coruscant.

The shop-owner flattened the last of the brown packaging that hid the item, standing it up on its base. It was a small, simple statue of bronzium, its gold-like plating reflecting the small amount of light in the shop.

Obi-wan narrowed his eyes, trying to focus his vision. It was an old piece, quite old, if his estimates were correct. The figure was maybe as tall as the length of his forearm, and quite simple in its geometric design. It was a hooded figure in a long cloak. The head was bowed, and in the figure’s hands was a small, irregularly shaped bowl.

The Jedi squinted. He thought he saw writing on the bowl, but couldn’t be absolutely sure of it. It most likely would have made no difference - the figure was so old that the language was likely to be archaic, untranslatable without the help of an archivist or historian. 

_An art smuggling market?_ It made some sense. Republic politicians were nervous that the credit would, with no warning, plummet in value, and many were scrambling to put their amassed fortunes in less mainstream investments, like art. It was a risky move, but Obi-wan could see the value in collecting rare, little-known items such as this to exploit at a later time.

He looked again at the statue. There was…something about it. The pose, the robes, the bowl. He tried once more the discern the writing on the bowl - it would most likely be the key to the figure’s origins. 

The Force stirred and Obi-wan froze, a sudden shot of adrenaline coursing through his body.

_It can’t be…but why in the galaxy would someone on Coruscant want *that*?_

Pablo returned from the back room with a small container which seemed far too heavy for its size. With a grunt, he deposited it on the counter where it made prodigious _clang_ of metal against metal. Obi-wan winced at the sound. The Rodian picked up the statue and and placed it inside, closing the lid.

“You’re sure that'll pass through the scanners?” the hooded man demanded.

Pablo nodded furiously. “It has every other time. It’s altered to only affect weight, not properties.”

The man produced a small satchel from his belt. “It had better.” He threw the pouch on the counter. “Or else it will be your neck, Pablo.”

With no further word, the man walked out of the store with a final _swoosh_ of his cape.

Pablo puttered around with the container, muttering to himself about ‘getting involved in this business’ and how ‘poor Zeelo hadn’t deserved that.’ The Rodian disappeared into the back room with the strange container, still cursing the hooded man under his breath.

Obi-wan leaned back against the crate, taking his chin in his hand.

_Could that really have been…_

He had seen the artists’ renderings of the statues. He had read about their political philosophies.

_But who on Coruscant would want a thing like that?_

Certainly not the Jedi Council. Obi-wan was certain that beyond himself, perhaps only Master Yoda was aware of the sisters' existence, and the old Jedi certainly hadn’t gone poking around obscure Sith writings to learn more. No one else on the Council, or in the Temple for that matter, would know the possible significance of the figure.

No, he was certain that the Jedi were not the ones who were arranging this.

But who? A naive art collector? Some desperate politician? A gangster?

Obi-wan shook his head. None of it made any sense.

And yet…

He shook his head. Whatever it was, he should inform the Council. He lifted his arm to comm Mace -

\- and stopped himself just as he was about to push the 'transmit' button.

Too many questions would be asked. The voice inside him whispered to keep the information to himself. What would the Jedi know what to do with it anyway?

Perhaps it, too, had been a figment of his imagination.

Obi-wan growled. He couldn’t let himself get sidelined by possible Sith intrigue when a very real Sith plot had been deposited right in his lap. Whatever this mysterious statue was, there wasn’t enough evidence for him to get worked up about it now.

What he needed to do was find that conversion machine before Pablo came back inside. Obi-wan stood up, brushing the dust off his pants.

A glint from behind the counter. _There it is._ Obi-wan walked through the messy store and leapt over the counter to the machine, inserting his credit key in one swift movement.

The key’s real owner was a deceased Coruscanti gangster by the name of Xe’an Bon, some mid-level representative of the Black Sun who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time during a showdown between the Jedi and a Separatist splinter group who had managed to infiltrate the capital’s underworld. The fight had been all of a few minutes, the group being hilariously outmatched by the Jedi Master and her Padawan, but somehow a stray blaster bolt had caught the Faleen in the chest before anyone could stop it.

An unfortunate incident, they had reported to the Council a few days later. The medics had found a credit key on the dead woman that day and the Council, in a highly contentious debate, had decided to keep it in order to use on clandestine operations. The severity of that situation seemed laughable compared to what he was doing now.

The machine beeped and accepted the transaction, a small compartment opening to reveal just enough _ingots_ to get him a new ship and the means to bribe a few people along the way. If he needed more…well, he’d come to that when it was necessary.

 

* * *

 

The planet was grey - cold, bleak, and distant.

Ahsoka sat back in the co-pilot seat of the starship, crossing her arms, not daring to look over at the man to her left.

No, she had learned from the first few times she had tried to start a conversation. Anakin had nearly bitten her head off at the first attempt and subsequent repetitions of that interaction were finally enough to convince the young Togruta that it was a worthless endeavor.

Two days in hyperspace, traveling from Coruscant to Nal Hutta, and Anakin hadn’t uttered a word, except to give simple orders pertaining to the ship. Ahsoka didn’t know what he had spent the rest of the time doing, although she had heard a few muffled slams and yells emanating from his quarters periodically, along with the usual clamor of metal and other mechanical tools.

Skyguy definitely hadn’t been meditating, that was for sure.

The Force ebbed around her, seesawing between light and dark.  Anakin had been all anger, all revenge on Nal Hutta. His interrogation of the bartender had terrified her, the way he had just…just reached out with the Force, had lifted the Ithorian...

Had choked him.

She shuddered.

Not more than thirty minutes later, though, her Master had been himself again, haggling for information with the Bith salesman who had apparently sold the fugitives a ship with only enough fuel to reach Orondia, the planet they were heading to now. Coincidentally, Orondia was the only fueling station within any reasonable number of parsecs that had a fueling station, and _that_ fueling station happened to be owned by the Bith’s brother.

“Well, that’s a nice little money-making scam,” Anakin had commented, almost laughing at the Bith as he flipped a few credits in his direction.

Ahsoka frowned. Anakin had explained that it was a pretty common scam on planets like Nal Hutta and Tatooine. She had to wonder how the three supposedly hardened fugitives fell for it. Ahsoka couldn’t imagine that Cad Bane, one of the most infamous bounty hunters in the galaxy, wouldn’t know about a seemingly simple racket like that.

None of it made sense.

“Alright Snips, keep sharp." Anakin's voice was hoarse from disuse. "We don’t know where these guys are or what they’re up to. Remember, one of them killed - "

Anakin bowed his head and gripped the steering console of the starfighter, squeezing his eyes closed. When he finally raised his head to speak again, his voice was raspy. “You know what Hardeen did, Ahsoka. Be careful.”

Ahsoka only nodded in acknowledgement, too nervous to voice her concerns about her Master _to_ her Master.

They descended further into the atmosphere, a multi-tiered fueling station coming into sight, a lonely landmark on the empty, pock-marked planet surface. A yellow-striped space yacht was taking off from the station as they approached. 

_Strange,_ she thought. _Last time I saw a ship like that it belonged to Hondo Ohnaka._

Anakin changed course to follow the large ship. He apparently had the same thought. As they came closer, she caught a glimpse of a wide-brimmed hat on top of a familiar blue head.

“Look,” she pointed towards the ship, her heartbeat suddenly racing, “it’s Cad Bane.”

She felt the immediate shift in her Master’s Force presence, his senses now on the highest alert.

“Are you sure?” 

Ahsoka let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. “Ugh, who else wears a hat like that?” She had had enough involvement with the Duros bounty hunter to last her a lifetime.

“Good point,” he answered.

Ahsoka felt the thrusters shift into higher gear as Anakin overcame the yacht, flying directly over it. At the last second, he descended, striking the hull of the fugitive’s vessel with the bottom of their own.

Immediately the larger ship gained elevation, attempting to reciprocate the gesture. But Anakin was far too wily a pilot to be fooled, and he merely pulled back on the ship’s steering to rise in tandem with their target. Temporarily foiled, the transport ship feinted a course into an outcropping ahead.

_The pilot certainly isn’t a Jedi, that’s for sure,_ Ahsoka thought as she watched her Master easily evade the grey rock formations ahead of them. In response to the unsuccessful strategy, the enemy vessel changed tactics again, descending to fly just above the planet's surface, leaving a trail of exhaust as it accelerated even faster.

Anakin only sneered, muttering something in Huttese under his breath as they, too, headed downwards.

Two two ships flew perilously close to the surface of the rocky planet, kicking up dust in their wake. Ahsoka let Anakin take full control of the ship. He was in his element now, flying a spaceship in tight, dangerous conditions. There was no way the criminals were going to escape them. There was no way they could outfly Anakin Skywalker.

The fugitive’s ship suddenly zoomed forward, pulling up to cut off their flight path. Ahsoka opened her mouth to say something when Anakin abruptly brought the ship down on their hull for a second time, knocking it off course.  The yacht quickly corrected its direction, ducking under a mining pipeline while Anakin flew above it. It was becoming increasingly obvious that the large, yellow ship was no match for the agile fighter the two Jedi piloted. Anakin leaned forward in his seat as if he had spotted something, and Ahsoka felt him come to a quick decision.

“Take over,” he yelled above the commotion, giving her no more than a small glance as he ran out of the cockpit.

_Take over?_ Ahoksa grimaced, trying to gather all of her focus. _I don’t want to be the one to lose Rako Hardeen if I can’t fly this thing!_

Ahsoka reached out through the Force, tailing Hardeen’s ship as well as she could. Something had changed - the large yacht was somehow more agile, was moving faster. Something about it was familiar…

She nearly wrenched the steering the wrong way. _Kriff, Master!_ Anakin had just leapt out of the cargo hold on top of the transport. She saw him ignite his lightsaber and impale it on one of the ship’s wings, drawing a long line through the metal.

And then a familiar figure in rocket-boots flew across her scanners.

_Bane!_

_/Master, look out!/_ she sent frantically.

Ahsoka hoped he heard her as she watched the Duros secure a cable lock underneath where Anakin was standing He swung around, and opened fire her Master. Anakin blocked every shot and managed to slice through the cable, sending Bane flying into the hull of the ship. Her master was there a second later, intent on slicing Bane in half. The chase between the two ships almost seemed to come to a standstill while the bounty hunter and Jedi fought as they flew through space.

And then, out of nowhere, the yellow-striped ship accelerated and swung to the left, knocking both her Master and Bane off-balance, taking Ahsoka by surprise and forcing her to change her own course within a split-second.

_Oh no you don’t, you sleemos!_

Ahsoka growled and sent the ship downwards, copying her Master’s strategy, slamming the bottom of her ship into the top of the bounty hunters’.

It worked - for a moment. But the transport righted itself and accelerated again as Anakin and Bane restarted their fight after the brief interruption. 

_Whoever is piloting the ship now has really good reflexes,_ she thought. Their evasive maneuver had taken her completely by surprise.

Ahsoka pushed the thrusters and tried to keep up with the yellow-vessel which again teetered to the left. This time, however, Anakin did not lose his balance, and instead looked back towards the cockpit, his face snarling in anger.

The Togruta gasped as the shock ran through their bond. Whatever her Master had seen had suddenly ignited his ire.

_Hardeen._

She was certain Anakin was going to jump straight through the cockpit window right then, but Hardeen’s ship fired a series of blaster shots into a pipeline a few meters ahead of them, sending up a plume of smoke.

Ahsoka squinted her eyes. She could barely see an arm's length in front of her, so thick was the air with dust, ash, and other particles. She reached out through the Force, trying to make sure she didn’t lose track of the vessel or her Master in the whirlwind of smoke.

Another series of shots blew up a second pipeline, adding density to the already thick fog. Ahsoka forced herself to stay steady, to reach out with her senses to pilot the ship. But her hold on the criminal's position was slipping. Just when she thought she had lost her quarry, the two ships emerged from the smoke, the yacht now a good distance ahead of her.

_Not this time, Hardeen._

Ahsoka pushed the starfighter to go even faster, ignoring the squealing sounds emanating from the steering console. She bore down, ready to smash the large freighter for good when there was a flash of warning in the Force. The yellow vessel suddenly pulled upwards, colliding into the bottom of their ship and sending her careening towards the ground.

The fighter skidded across the rocky surface, throwing Ahsoka in every which direction. She swore she heard a voice say, “Stay focused, Ahsoka,” before her head crashed into the blunt end of a steering mechanism. The world spun around her and the Togruta knew no more.

 

* * *

_Blast. It. All._

Obi-wan grit his teeth for what felt like the thousandth time in the last five minutes.

_Why, Anakin? Just why?_ He had to stop himself from slamming his fist down on the ship’s nav controls in frustration. How did Anakin even know to track him here? Couldn’t his former student just leave things be, just for once?

Obi-wan could have laughed in that moment, his emotions vacillating as wildly as the space yacht had just before it crashed. At least it proved that his shielding was working. Anakin had no idea who he was, which was obvious from the murderous intent in his face.

_Like Master, like Padawan._

It was not a thought he wanted to dwell on.

Obi-wan leapt out of the crashed ship, blaster at the ready. He made certain that his weapon was set to ‘stun’. The Jedi was perilously close to blowing his cover, his emotions boiling dangerously near the surface, but he would not allow himself to endanger Anakin.

_I might murder someone on the Council when I get back to Coruscant, though._

Too distracted by his own thoughts, Obi-wan failed to notice the figure creeping through the smoke on his left, and before he knew what happened, Obi-wan was flying off the edge of an outcropping, in the arms of a large man he knew very, very well.

The pair landed with a _thud_ on the rocky surface. Obi-wan’s instincts kicked in immediately. He rolled with the fall, using his momentum trap his former student underneath him, just like they had done so many times while sparring at the Temple. Anakin gave a grunt and used the Force to throw Obi-wan off of him, but the disguised Jedi quickly regained his footing, readying himself in an attack position to grapple with Anakin. He hoped that by doing so, Anakin would forget about his lightsaber, and that the fight wouldn’t escalate beyond a pure physical brawl.

“You’re going to pay for what you did.” The words were ripped out of Anakin’s throat - raw, visceral. Obi-wan could practically see the storm clouds forming over the young Jedi’s head.

Obi-wan crouched even lower, as if the guilt of his actions were weighing him down. He felt leaden, even sick. This should never have happened. Obi-wan should have shut down this entire operation that day in the Jedi Council room.

“You shouldn’t have gotten involved.” He heard himself echoing his thoughts to his Padawan, angry at Anakin, angry at _himself._

A pause, and then they were locked, arm in arm, Anakin’s strength overwhelming Obi-wan in his reluctance to hurt his best friend. He soon found himself backed against a cliff wall. Anakin gave a push and Obi-wan’s head knocked against the hard surface, momentarily dazing him. Almost immediately the disguised Jedi keeled over in extreme pain, falling on his knees.

Outrage and indignation cut through the haze of pain.

_Did he just knee me in the -_

And then he heard the tell-tale _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber.

_Oh no._

He looked up and saw two Anakins, two blue lightsabers bearing down on him. He shook his head, trying to focus his vision...

_Please, don’t do this._

“This is for Obi-wan.”

The words bored into Obi-wan's very soul. His anger, his frustration, which he had been repressing ever since the incident with F’rkor - the feelings of loss, of betrayal by the Jedi Order. The pain of watching the young man he had trained, had raised - act out of rage against him, in his name.

His name. His mission. His fault.

Obi-wan brought up his hand as Anakin readied his lightsaber to strike. Was he trying to deflect the blow, to warn him, or…

He never found out.

Just as Anakin swung his weapon downwards there was a faint _click_ of something engaging and almost immediately a cord wrapped itself around his former Padawan, rendering him unable to move.

“You can thank me later, Hardeen,” called Cad Bane as he pulled on the cable that entrapped Anakin, flying around the Jedi on his rocket boots, dragging his former student on the ground.

Obi-wan knew that wouldn’t contain Anakin for long and true to his prediction, the young Jedi kicked backwards, momentarily stunning Bane. The move gave Anakin enough time to disentangle himself and pull out his lightsaber again, just as the bounty hunter opened fire with his blaster.

He needed to end this. Needed to somehow warn Anakin without telling him the whole truth. Needed to get away from his former student before something went _very_ wrong.

Finally, one of Anakin’s deflections ricocheted off the Duros’s own weapon, knocking it out of his hands. Anakin raised his lightsaber in a storm of fury, intent on revenge on _someone_ -

Obi-wan’s heart leapt into his throat. He surged forward, tackling his former student, this time feeding off the emotions that had been building in him the past few days. He welcomed the release and the Force reciprocated in appreciation of his efforts.

Anakin took a wild swing with his lightsaber at Obi-wan, but he was too unmoored, too angry, too emotional. The younger Jedi’s control was lost and Anakin was now only flailing at the man he thought responsible for his Master’s death.

Obi-wan sank further into the Force, releasing the blue, cold energy from its contained nexus inside himself. The world came into crystalline focus and he felt himself nearly vibrating with the Force’s power. He grabbed Anakin’s arm, pulling down and flipping his student onto his back with brutal efficiency. Obi-wan straddled the young Jedi, being sure to pin his legs down while punching him repeatedly in the face.

_One._ Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had to laugh about finally being able to punch some sense into Anakin after years of quashing the impulse.

_Two._ He knew he should feel guilt, or at least apprehension over their current predicament. But the sound, the feel of bare knuckles on flesh and bone was so satisfying...

_Three._ He was Rako Hardeen. There was no Obi-wan Kenobi right now, just the Concordian criminal who killed a Jedi and who needed to get off this planet without any more Jedi involvement.

_Four._ He opened himself up just a fraction more to the slippery, icy energy, allowing himself to luxuriate, just for a moment, in the deeper connection with this aspect of the Force.

Obi-wan reared back to deliver a final blow, hesitating ever so slightly as he felt the faint rays of sun that were most definitely Anakin reach the icy surface of his Force signature.

He waited a second too long. Anakin caught Obi-wan's hand and grabbed his wrist, flipping him over with his brute power, sending the Concordian rolling away from the younger Jedi.

Obi-wan quickly righted himself as Anakin launched towards the bounty hunter in a frenzy. The disguised Jedi easily evaded the maneuver, instead catching his former student in his arms and securing him in a sleeper hold.

Anakin fought, turned this way and that, trying to wrest himself from the man’s grip, much as had when he was a child, when he hadn’t wanted to leave the Room of a Thousand Fountains, so entranced was he by the sheer volume of water in one place. Obi-wan tightened his grip, gritting his teeth. The voice in the back of his head whispered, _“Finish him,”_ but he ignored it. He needed to incapacitate Anakin, not do any lasting damage to him.

Just as he felt the young Jedi reach the edge of consciousness, he addressed his friend with a raspy whisper. “Anakin, *don’t* follow me.”

There was a surge in the Force - a small one, as Obi-wan knew that Anakin was too weak to truly harness his power right now. He watched his student struggle against this new information, to try and reach out -

And then he went limp, unconscious in Obi-wan’s arms.

Obi-wan let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, tuning over Anakin’s body on the ground. He got up, dusted himself off, and made for the direction of the ship and a very impatient-looking Moralo Eval. He only hoped that Cad Bane believed the Jedi to be dead.

“Ship is still operational!” called the Phindian, already halfway up the steps. Obi-wan couldn’t contain his disgust for the creature who wasn’t even able to risk his skin in the fight.

_Dooku’s operatives don’t seem to be very committed, for all of the Count’s posturing._ It briefly occurred to Obi-wan that what Dooku needed was a competent partner, one who wasn’t motivated solely by credits or fear.

There was a sudden warning in the Force. Obi-wan whirled around as Cad Bane picked up a blaster and aimed it at Anakin’s chest.

_No!_

Obi-wan saw red. Saw himself, eviscerating Bane,  _ripping out the man's innards with the Force alone.._.

The Force screamed in delight. His blood nearly boiled. 

And then a figure came swooping in from the night sky. A large predatory bird, wielding two long green talons in its wings.

_Ahsoka._

She stood over her Master's prone body, double lightsabers in hand. Her teeth were bared, her Force signature just shy of wild.

The Togruta stared down Bane, who very obviously wanted to finish off Anakin if for no other reason than to finally have a kill down on his record to match Hardeen’s. Obi-wan’s attention was split between the Duros bounty hunter and Ahsoka, who, he knew, was ready to defend Anakin with her life.

“I got the ship working! Let’s get out of here!” called Eval, obviously wanting nothing to do with the confrontation below.

Bane stiffened for a minute and then tipped his hat. “You’re lucky we’re in a hurry, little lady. We’ll have to dance another time.” The Duros turned and sauntered back to the ship, somehow knowing that Ahsoka would not stray from Anakin, that she wouldn’t risk an attack if it meant leaving her Master's side.

The bloodlust of the Force calmed, as crimson gave way to a pale blue. 

Ahsoka would take care of Anakin. They were all safe - for now at least. Obi-wan exchanged an uneasy glance with the young Jedi and he saw something shift in her eyes - the wild defensiveness turned to confusion and then... a glimmer of recognition. 

Of dismay.

Unsure of what to do, Obi-wan nodded in her direction and then ran off in pursuit of Bane, burying his feelings as he climbed the ship’s steps, already relying on the text which he knew so well to sublimate anything he had experienced in the last thirty minutes.

The door to the ship closed and Eval engaged the thrusters, punching in the hyperspace coordinates for their final destination. Obi-wan walked into the cockpit as the ship took off, quickly ascending through the atmosphere of Orondia.

“You going to tell me where we’re going seeing as I just saved both of your asses?” Hardeen asked roughly. 

Bane grunted, peering out from under his hat. “You’re forgetting that _I_ was the one who kept you from getting sliced in half.” The Duros placed both his feet on the nav counsel and leaned back, putting a toothpick between his teeth.

Obi-wan had had enough. He strode over to the Duros and grabbed him by both shoulders, lifting him and slamming the man into the wall. The Force purred, wrapping itself around him once again, asking - no, _demanding_ more…

“Enough, you two! Moralo Eval just wants to get out of here and to his employer.” The long-limbed criminal had his blaster trained on the Concordian. “Mr. Hardeen, if you please…”

Obi-wan gave Bane a hard look, but relinquished his hold on the bounty hunter. The Duros readjusted his shirt and jacket, and retook his chair in the co-pilot’s position as if nothing had happened.

“So, what's the deal, Eval?” rasped Hardeen.

The Phindian pushed a final series of buttons to bring them into hyperspace. The pinpoints of the stars stretched in two directions, until they became lines, until they distorted into swirls as they hurtled through time and space.

Eval swiveled in his chair and waved an irritated hand. “We’ll arrive at Serenno within the day.  You’ll find out what Count Dooku has planned when we get there.”

Bane tipped his hat up, “And we’ll all be paid. Right, Eval?”

“If you do what your told, _and_ you survive?” Eval let out a chuckle. “Sure, you’ll be paid handsomely.”

“Where you going, Hardeen?” the Duros called to Obi-wan’s retreating form.

Obi-wan grabbed at his pants in what he felt was a very uncivilized gesture. “‘Fresher.”

He quickly walked through the automatic doors into the facilities, his breaths shortening. This was _not_ good.

He let out a breath.

Dooku.

It was unavoidable. After all, the whole point of the mission was to stop the Count’s plans. Possibly capture, maybe even kill -

Obi-wan swallowed. The man was a Sith. The enemy. 

_Then why..._

The memory of Zygerria. Kneeling in front of Dooku.

Something guttural escaped from him at the image - a husky exhale, an emotion he couldn’t quite place.

Obi-wan hadn’t seen or heard from the man since that night in the Coruscant cantina, but he was always at the edges of his mind. After all, Dooku was, in part, the reason he was here right now. The reason the mission had been a success so far.

But it had been Dooku who - who killed them. It had to have been.

_~And who killed F’rkor?~_

Obi-wan buried his face in his hands. It had gone too far, all of it, and the only way out was to walk through it. He ran the faucet, leaning over the sink to truly take in his image for the first time since the mission began.

Rako Hardeen. Cold-blooded killer. This was all Rako Hardeen, _not_ Obi-wan Kenobi. He could only hope that would be what Dooku saw as well.

Otherwise the consequences…

He splashed his face with water, ignoring the growing feelings of unease, of anticipation of meeting with the Sith Lord.

Obi-wan thought of the Jedi Code for the first time in a week. Tried to reach for what had been his bedrock, the foundation for everything he did, everything he believed in. He needed to feel grounded in something, to have at least one thing to turn to, to rely on, when everything around him seemed to be falling apart. 

He took a large breath in, closing his eyes. 

_There is no emotion -_

Obi-wan sighed.

_~Lies.~_

The Jedi wiped his face and walked back into the cockpit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Obi-wan actually bought a Luxury 3000 Space Yacht in canon (with Jedi Council credit, no less), and yes, it is the same model ship Hondo Ohnaka used. 
> 
> I'm basing the crypto-key idea _very_ loosely off of BitCoin and BitCoin ATMs, plus whatever I've dug up on Republic currency on Wookieepedia. 
> 
> Some dialogue lifted from "Friends and Enemies," Clone Wars Season 4, Episode 16
> 
> This was...not necessarily my favorite chapter ever, but it needed to get done. 
> 
> Chapter 10 preview: DOOKU. FINALLY. _YAAAAAASSSSSSSSSS_


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods I *love* Dooku.

“Yes, my Lord. It will be done.”

The older man bowed deeply, waiting for the transmission to end. Finally, the holoimage of the Sith Lord disappeared and Count Dooku raised himself to a standing position, carefully adjusting the fabric of his pants so that the material over his knee did not show any sign of wear. Dooku was always sure to switch knees when in the presence of the Sith Lord, and he had made a point of acquiring a small closet full of the same pants that he wore on a daily basis. Only peasants and slaves wore clothing that showed signs of subservience, and Dooku’s current arrangement with Sidious was only a temporary matter of necessity for a greater goal. He would play the part when he needed to, but he certainly would not let it appear that way to anyone else.

To do so would be uncivilized, to say the least.

The tall, broad-shouldered Sith pressed a button on the wall and immediately a servant droid rolled into the quarters. “Yes, sir?” it asked, its eyes starting vacantly ahead, no real thought, no true consciousness present in the machine. Dooku would have preferred sentient servants, as he had before his defection to the Sith, but it was a risk he was not willing to take in the midst of the war. Sentients were too likely to betray, or be compromised. No, the empty company of the droids would have to do for now.

“Please alert the project team that they should be expecting our participants to begin tomorrow,” he ordered evenly, “and that any error in the systems will be met with instant deactivation.”

The droid wheeled back as if it had fear. It didn’t, of course, and Dooku was denied that most exquisite taste in the Force, one that nearly equaled his meticulously planned-out meals. Fear had the acquired bitterness of the Nargk root, the bouquet of a fine Renan wine, and the pleasant savor of a good Traladon steak. Yes, this war had brought enough fear for a man to gorge himself on.

But not in his current circumstances, not surrounded by droids. _No matter, we shall test the mettle of these bounty hunters and perhaps the reward will be just as satisfying._ It was a pity he had no one to share the upcoming feast with - a meal such as this was always better in company.

With a wave of a hand he dismissed the servant droid, which wheeled away with the slight hum of its mechanism. The Count of Serenno took a seat behind his large, multi-paneled communications console, opening a bottom drawer to pull out a small bottle of Varanta nectar. He poured himself a dram of the blood-red liquid, a rare delicacy that had been quite costly. Dooku replaced the bottle in the drawer and shut it quietly, swiveling his chair to face the large transparisteel window that overlooked the rugged terrain of his home planet.

It was nearing the summer season, and the snow had melted from the mountains in all but the highest elevations. The bases of the craggy peaks were covered in thick, verdant growth and he was sure the soil was moist with runoff, teeming with potential life.

It was almost a quaint idea - to cultivate life and not end it - a concept he hadn’t meditated on in quite some time. The methods of the Sith were not exactly conducive towards that type of thinking, unless it involved unnatural extension of life or the cloning techniques that had been perfected on Kamino. Even then, his association with the clone army had ended in death - the death of Sifo-Dyas and his first act as a Sith.

No, the nurturing of life was something he no longer took part in. Hadn’t taken part in for many, many years. Not since a certain long-haired Padawan, who had a such a predilection for unearthing all sundry forms of organisms…

Dooku mentally chastised himself. Such thoughts would not bring back the dead. He channeled his ire inwards and felt his connection with the Force deepen. Sentiment turned to resentment which pooled into a deep, crimson wellspring from which he could draw.

_What fools those Jedi were. What fools they remain._

The moment was drawing nearer, Dooku could sense it in the Force. His Master’s plans were accelerating, and with them, Dooku’s own carefully laid-out, secret intentions. The kidnapping plot, and the construction of “The Box”, had all but confirmed Dooku’s growing suspicions.

It had been a strange, and expensive order - to construct a deadly obstacle course in order to identify the best bounty hunters in the galaxy, ones who would be able to pull off a daring kidnapping plot against Chancellor Palpatine at the Festival of Light Celebration on Naboo. Dooku had not quite been able to tease out the ultimate purpose of the plan. He knew that it would undermine the public’s already waning trust in the Jedi Order and destabilize the Republic government, if successful. But the Count had a feeling that Sidious had no intention of actually succeeding in the end, that the failure of his own kidnapping would have other rewards.

That much Dooku could understand, but the concept of this “Box” still struck him as rather ridiculous and overdramatic. Still, he was not in a position to argue with his Master and he had wasted no time in preparing what was essentially a death trap for the combatants, using the Phindian criminal Moralo Eval as his frontman and architect. It had been an odd process, as Dooku had ordered Eval to create something that combined his own experience with the Jedi training course known as the Art of Movement with his own research into Sith training techniques. In truth, the basic premise of the courses were the same between the two orders, except that the consequences for failure were far more grave for the Sith. Fear was a great motivator, and pain _did_ give focus.

These bounty hunters, however, were not Jedi or Sith and despite their great prowess, Dooku anticipated that the threat this particular cadre of criminals represented against his Master’s plans would be greatly diminished by the time the week was done.

A light blinked in the reflection of the window, emanating from the console behind him. The last of the bounty hunters, and his main contact, Moralo Eval, had finally arrived.

The Count frowned at the thought of the servile Phindian. It had certainly taken him long enough. He would have to be dealt with later.

Dooku rose, observing the bright lights of a large yellow space yacht as it made the final approach to the landing area, escorted by two droid crafts. It was an impressive vessel, for certain, but beyond that, it had the capability of holding vast amounts of hidden weaponry. Elegant and practical - the Sith had to compliment the taste of whoever had picked that particular spacecraft. 

The vessel settled on the landing bay and Dooku felt something subtle shift in the Force, almost as if there were a second plane of energy that was hiding just beyond his senses.

_How interesting_ , he mused. _Perhaps this little competition will reveal something more than originally intended._

He walked over to where his cloak hung, fastening the garment around his neck in one swift motion, observing his reflection in the mirror, looking for any imperfection, any blemish or sign of fallibility. Content that his image did not at all reflect the position he currently held within the Sith hierarchy, he strode through the double-doors to greet the gathering group of criminals.

 

* * *

 

_Rako Hardeen._

The Concordian had been a last-minute addition to the tournament, had somehow wormed his way into the company of Cad Bane and Moralo Eval during a breakout from the Republic prison that Eval was being held at.

Count Dooku did not like surprises. Surprises were suspicious and Rako Hardeen was no exception to that rule.

And yet, so far he had proven himself the most capable of the bounty hunters, by a significant margin. It was Hardeen who had figured out the secret of the dioxin poison, it was Hardeen who had donned his helmet and jumped into the pit where the exit lied, almost as if he had some sort of…precognition that it would be there.

And somehow it was Hardeen who had, up to this point, saved everyone.

_Odd behavior for a criminal._

Dooku stood in the observation chamber with Moralo Eval, watching the progress of the bounty hunters through several large surveillance monitors. Rows of blocks jutted in and out of walls, down from the ceiling and up from the floor at seemingly irregular intervals, each piece sporting a laser blade at the end that was meant to emulate a Jedi’s lightsaber.

Already two had died, their reactions not quick enough, their inability to read the complicated pattern of the attacks causing their ultimate demise.

Dooku smiled to himself.Their eyes were wide, their movements spastic as the fake lightsabers traveled this way and that.A strangled yell - another had fallen. He reached into the Force and felt the confusion, the anxiety as death stared them in the face.

Yes, he could begin to taste true fear in all of them.

All save one.

While the other bounty hunters scampered about like anxious vermin, Hardeen stood still, an eye in the center of an unrelenting storm.

Something prickled at the edges of the Sith’s mind.

He took a few steps forward, looming behind the Phindian, who was sitting at the controls of the surveillance monitors.

“Impressive.” Dooku clasped his hands behind his back. “Tell me what you know about this…Rako Hardeen.”

The Phindian flinched as the Sith drew closer, his long fingers suddenly flying over a series of buttons, his shoulders hunched close to his ears. The profile of Rako Hardeen loaded onto the monitor, and Eval leaned back in his chair.

“He killed the Jedi Obi-wan Kenobi.” The Phindian raised a dismissive hand, half-turning to Dooku. “But only with a sniper rifle.”

_ “Obi-wan Kenobi?” _

The Concordian’s face appeared in the surveillance monitor. He looked directly into the holorecorder, perhaps beyond the holorecorder at Dooku himself, almost as if he could sense the Sith in the other room.

_Obi-wan Kenobi._

Dooku did not watch the Concordian dance past the deadly array of lasers, did not take note of how the Concordian seemed to be helping Cad Bane through this most difficult of challenges, did not watch the man visibly flinch as an Ithorian was impaled through the head.

_Obi-wan Kenobi._

The Count crossed his arms. 

Killed, by a common bounty hunter? 

_Impossible._ The man was far too clever, far too skilled, far too powerful to be felled by a sniper’s blast.

Eval was not lying, however, and the information on the data screen only confirmed his statement. It seemed as if Obi-wan Kenobi was killed several days ago on the lower levels of Coruscant.

Dooku's mouth curved upwards.

_No, no my young friend. You are certainly not dead._

The Sith closed his eyes and reached out through the Force. Reached out past the heavily enforced walls of the control room, past the corpses of the Weequay Kiera Swan and a Snivvian hologram expert. He could see the outlines of the remaining sentient beings in the room, their Force presences marred by their crimes, by the many heinous acts they had committed in the name of credits, of greed. Jagged, ugly, disfigured shapes, all of them.

All except one.

Dooku experienced a rush of understanding, the minor thrill of anticipation. This time he did not attempt to conceal the wide, malevolent grin that spread across his features.

_So, perhaps you have decided to heed my advice after all, Obi-wan Kenobi._

The Sith Lord did not have to physically see the end of the challenge to know that it had been Hardeen who had led the party to safety. That it had been Hardeen who had the ability to track the timings of the attacks. The only question left in Dooku’s mind was just how far the young man had strayed.

“It seems that Hardeen has done it again,” he boasted to the Phindian, whose eyes narrowed at the mere mention of the Concordian’s name.“I’m beginning to think he may be the best one to lead this operation.”

Eval sneered, pressing a series of buttons on the console. “Hardeen is crafty, I will grant you. But let’s see what happens when he is not the key to their survival.”

Dooku’s eyes gleamed, flashing just for a moment with a sickly yellow. _Yes, let us see what happens._

 

* * *

 

“If you’re gonna kill him, do it like a man,” the voice of Cad Bane carried through the speakers into the control room.

Dooku had seen enough. He took the seat where Eval had been not more than ten minutes ago, the cushion still warm from the Phindian’s body.

“You heard him, Eval,” his deep bass resonating in the chamber. Dooku pressed the button that activated the video feed, broadcasting his face on every side of the Box. “Show us what you are really made of.” The Sith moved his hands and pressed a second button, which retracted the small platform that Eval was standing on. The Phindian criminal tried to find an escape, but Dooku had been sure to close any avenue that might be available to him. With no more ground to stand on, Eval plummeted downwards.

The moment the Phindian hit the floor of the Box, the platform that Rako Hardeen was suspended over began to descend. The disguised Jedi had been saved from falling to a fiery demise by Cad Bane after Eval had fixed the outcome of the final sniper challenge. The Sith had no doubt that Kenobi would have been able to rescue himself from the situation, but it was certainly _enlightening_ to see how quickly he was able to form alliances with these criminals.

The two criminals faced off on the floor of the Box, exchanging some words that Dooku didn't bother to listen to. Almost immediately, Eval activated the transmitter on his wrist. A section of the ceiling opened and a group of probe droids, all armed, emerged, flying towards the Jedi with the command to kill. Kenobi dealt with them quickly, punching one, kicking another, and even using one droid as a ersatz-discus to knock out the remaining three. 

The Count raised an eyebrow. _Impressive._

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” Hardeen challenged Eval.

Once again, the Phindian pressed a button on his wrist panel and this time a series of walls rose from the floor, creating a small labyrinth which Eval immediately ran into, Hardeen close on his heels. Dooku sighed. Eval was a coward, and he was proving himself to be an inept coward at that, so reliant was he on his tricks and technology.

It was a pity that his most reliable associates were the droid army he commanded. The sentients were so fickle, motivated by greed, fear, or some combination of both. If his own plans were to move forward…

Hardeen leapt over the tall walls of the maze, just avoiding being burnt to a crisp by a set of flamethrowers embedded in the sides of the trap. He perched on top of the wall before taking a large jump, coming down to strike Eval directly in the head.

Yes, if Dooku’s plans were to move forward, he needed someone who did not care about credits, who did not cower at the sight of Jedi or Sith. 

Hardeen took off his helmet and threw it at the Phindian. An underhanded move, but it was effective. Eval was startled just long enough to be tackled by the Concordian, their bodies sliding across the floor to the perilous edge of the box, which was surrounded in flames.

_Perhaps I can solve two problems at once,_ mused Dooku, drinking in the sight of Hardeen pummeling Eval, again and again in the face, his face contorted in a quiet rage.

Hardeen leaned back for one final blow, crushing his fist into Eval’s eye socket. Blood was seeping from the Phindian’s nose, from one of his eyes.

Energy spent, the Concordian fell back on his haunches, his face a mix of anger and distress, as if he had suddenly awakened to the situation.

There was turmoil in the young man, Dooku could sense that. And if he focused just right…

_There it is._

It was a sliver, an infinitesimal sliver. One that a less powerful Force-wielder may not have even been able to identify. But Count Dooku recognized it immediately, recognized the cold, restrained fury. 

How could he not? It was so similar to his own.

Dooku decided to see just how far the man would go.

“Finish him, Hardeen,” he ordered through the communications system.

Hardeen froze, seemingly suspended between two impulses, between the memories of past actions and the promise of future ones. The sliver of ice widened a fraction.

And then it was gone in an instant, vanished, only to be replaced by the nearly transparent plane of energy that the Sith had first sensed in the young man.

So it would not happen today.

“Very disappointing.”

The Concordian shot the large holo-display a look somewhere between annoyance and self-reprobation. He gingerly stood up, retrieving his helmet, walking to the other side of the room to join the other bounty hunters.

“All due respect,” the rough voice of Rako Hardeen contrasted deeply with the refined Coruscanti accent that Dooku had come to associate with Obi-wan Kenobi. “I just want to do my job and get my money.”

Spoken like a true bounty hunter. It was almost believable, if not for the evidence that Rako Hardeen possessed more skill than the remaining men and women put together. If not for the fact that any other bounty hunter would not have flinched at ending Eval’s pitiful life right there.  If it weren’t for the fact that Dooku could practically smell corruption, death on the young Jedi, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. No, the last few minutes had been _most educational_ for the Count.

Still, his plans needed to go forward. Dooku would deal with “Hardeen” at a later moment.

“It is unfortunate that your leadership skills are so lacking. Nonetheless, congratulations on surviving the Box.” Dooku addressed the five remaining bounty hunters - Hardeen, Bane, Embo, Derrown, Twazzi, and of course, that nuisance Moralo Eval.

“Tomorrow you will kidnap Chancellor Palpatine at the festival on Naboo. With the leader of the Republic as our hostage, we will demand the release of all Separatist prisoners. If our demand is not met,“ the Count smiled, “the Chancellor will be executed.”

Dooku paused, waiting for just the right moment to catch Hardeen’s gaze. 

“Either way, you will help reshape the galaxy.” 

And now for the practical matters. They had a job to do, and despite Dooku's growing skepticism of his Master's plan, he had no choice but to see it done. 

“Once you are all aboard the transport, Eval will walk you through his plan. However, the operation on Naboo will be run by Cad Bane. All of you work for him now.”

Eval had proven himself ineffectual, even a hinderance to his plans. While the Sith would have relished the idea of having Hardeen in charge, it was too risky. The man was teetering, still not ready to truly embrace his path. He was still fighting, still trying to live up to the Jedi ideals that would ultimately, perhaps already, betray him.

It was understandable. Dooku himself had experienced something similar, a kind of turmoil, questioning, doubting his path before he had killed Sifo-Diyas. Kenobi would experience the same, doubly so given his strict adherence to Jedi ideals. And Dooku would be there to guide the young man when the time came.

But for now, he needed to be brought to heel.

 

* * *

 

Obi-wan Kenobi closed the door to his temporary quarters, immediately collapsing onto the soft bed, his legs hanging over the edge onto the floor. 

He stared up at the ceiling of the grey-marbled room, following the pattern of the swirls from left to right. Dooku certainly hadn’t spared any expense in his guest accommodations, and Obi-wan was certain that these were located in the more humble section of the expansive estate that made up the Count’s grounds.

The Jedi massaged his forehead, trying to allay the burgeoning headache that was quickly pounding an insistent rhythm into his head.

All in all, it could have been worse. To start, Obi-wan was still alive, which was an accomplishment in itself seeing as their numbers had dwindled from eleven to five during the course of the tournament. It was possibly one of the most bizarre things Obi-wan had ever encountered - an entire enclosed arena dedicated to a fight-to-the-death obstacle course that was obviously testing not only the possible scenarios in the kidnapping plot, but also the bounty hunters’ competence against Jedi.

If it hadn’t been for Obi-wan, it was possible they would all be dead.

_Why did you save them, then? If they were dead, there would be no kidnapping plot._

No. He had promised not to kill again.

He felt the Force purr at him, insistent, like a Lothcat that wanted to be let out.

_Go away. I can’t risk exposure here._

Not with Dooku in the vicinity. Not when he had experienced that small break, when he towered over Moralo Eval’s prone form, the orders of the Sith Lord echoing in his mind. _Finish him, Hardeen._

He had been so tempted. It would have been so easy…

Obi-wan quickly sat up. From what he could tell, Dooku had no way of knowing that Rako Hardeen was really Obi-wan Kenobi. There had been no recognition in the eyes of the man, no recognition in the Force.

Of course, Dooku had had years to perfect the same technique…

Obi-wan huffed, determined to not think about it anymore. He put a hand up to rub his forehead. It came away blackened and grimy and it occurred to the Jedi that he really should think about taking a shower. In a few short movements, he stripped off his clothing, hanging the dirty, sweaty garments over his bed. He tried to ignore the pleasant sensation of his bare feet on the thick carpet beneath him. The last thing he wanted was to associate anything positive with this…place.

The shower was water, not sonic, and after a bit of deliberation, Obi-wan decided to take advantage of the luxury, his need to soak his aching muscles overriding his previous misgivings about enjoying any of the benefits of his stay on Serenno. Turning the heat of the water to just under scalding, he attempted to rid himself of everything, to eliminate everything from the past few days, the past few weeks - to cleanse himself. He rubbed his skin until it was raw, until his many cuts and wounds bled freely again, until his entire body radiated with pain, flush and pink. Steam filled the room and for the first time in weeks, he felt his shoulders loosen underneath the heat of the cascading water. 

Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the ‘fresher, cleaner than he had felt in years. He stuck his clothes in the ion washer/dryer he had noticed in the corner of the room, grateful for the opportunity to clean his filthy garments of the grime of Nal Hutta and three days in close confines with Cad Bane and Moralo Eval. 

He shouldn’t be enjoying any of this, but…

_Ding!_ Obi-wan took out his clothes and relished in the fresh scent, now absent of any trace of the two bounty hunters he had been forced to travel with. 

No, he shouldn’t find small comfort in the ability to be clean, to wash his clothing, to take care of his basic needs, especially when it came in a velvet trap.

It occurred to Obi-wan that there was no reason why these minor comforts should be extraordinary to him. No reason except the war. 

Except the dictates of the Jedi.

A knock at the door.

Obi-wan stilled, putting his hand on his blaster, sidling up to the entrance. He couldn’t feel the presence of any sentient being on the other side, but still…

“Rako Hardeen?” a mechanical voice whirred.

A droid.

He opened the door, not releasing his hold on the weapon. “Yes?” 

“Count Dooku requests your presence for dinner. Please follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 preview: It's time for "Dinner with Dooku" and OMG does our favorite Sith drop some manipulative crap on our favorite Jedi. 
> 
> _I've been waiting sooooo long to get to post this aaaarrrgggggg_
> 
> Some dialogue lifted from Clone Wars, Season 4, Episode 17 "The Box"
> 
> There is no ion washer/dryer in canon, that is totally made up by me.
> 
> Ooooohhhhh, Dooku! You are too much fun!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy...here we go you guys
> 
> I'm actually kind of nervous about posting this but got to move the story forward!

“Pease, take a seat Mr. Hardeen.”

Dooku’s urbane bass resonated in the large room. The Sith was seated at the head of a long, grey marble table, his hand outstretched in a gesture of welcome. Obi-wan’s stomach clenched. The table could easily accommodate at least twelve people, but with only two plate settings visible - one in front of Dooku, and one immediately to the man’s left - his worst fears were confirmed. This was a _private_ meeting with the Sith Lord, a situation that Obi-wan very much had wanted to avoid. 

The Jedi felt the Count’s eyes on him, scrutinizing his every move, his every breath. The Force stirred around him, its movements swift, elusive. The Sith made no effort to conceal his Force presence - after all, Rako Hardeen was only a talented bounty hunter, nothing more.

_Liquid metal_ , thought the Jedi. Quick, strong, almost impossible to penetrate…and deadly. It was no wonder the Count was such a formidable opponent, even at an advanced age. 

_“Ahem_.” Dooku threw an expectant glance at the bounty hunter. “If you please, Mr. Hardeen.” Obi-wan hesitated, still standing just over the threshold of the room’s entrance, still holding out hope that he could turn back, that he could walk right through those doors and pretend none of this had ever happened.

But of course, that was only the desperate, misplaced hope of a man backed into a corner, of someone who was _afraid,_ and Obi-wan Kenobi did not - _would not_ fear the man in front of him. The bounty hunter straightened, adjusting his vest, smoothing any creases or wrinkles that may have been visible in the material. The moment couldn’t be avoided any longer. With one last check of his mental shields, Obi-wan walked to the table and took his seat at the side of Count Dooku.

Obi-wan was not afraid, but he wasn’t stupid, either, and he could immediately see that this was not an ideal situation. The way they were seated, the Jedi’s back was to the exit, and the preponderance of droids meant that he could be ambushed much easier than if he were surrounded by living, breathing enemies. Of course, Dooku had planned it that way and had their situations been reversed, Obi-wan would have done the exact same thing. It was a simple, but effective strategy to counteract the intuition of any Force-sensitive.

_ Or just any enemy, _reminding himself that he was only a bounty hunter in this situation, not a Jedi.

Beyond the tactical disadvantage, though, there was just something else about the whole scene that felt... _off_. Obi-wan looked at the table. The plate settings were an elegant rose color, the napkins folded into ornate patterns that seemed to defy the physics of the simple fabric. The silverware shined - gleamed even - under the tastefully muted lighting of the room. Even if they were only two people, this felt more like a state affair rather than a private meal and Obi-wan's traitorous mind could not help but recall the high dinners and diplomatic banquets of his youth - ones where the rules and understated messages of formality and decorum were nearly as important as the spoken conversations. 

And Jedi apprentices always sat to the left of their Masters in those situations…

He chanced a glance over to the man to his right, his breath quickening just ever so slightly, his pulse just a few beats elevated from where it had been a moment ago. 

_Get a hold of yourself, Kenobi. You’re reading far too much into all of this._

Overanalyzing. Thinking himself into trouble. He had not quite been able to break the habit, even well into his thirties. A hinderance in times of peace, but a quality that often kept both him and countless others alive on the battlefield.

“I must admit, Mr. Hardeen, you are quite the enigma,” Dooku interrupted his thoughts, picking up his glass and taking a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving Obi-wan’s. “Not only do you show up unannounced at a highly confidential tournament, you manage to stay alive and save the lives of those around you.” The Count raised his eyebrows, his voice darkening ever so slightly. “Rather curious behavior for a hardened criminal, don’t you think?”

Obi-wan grunted, forcing himself to meet Dooku’s curious gaze. “Kriff, I was just along for the ride with Eval and Bane. Wanted out of that stinking prison. Didn’t know you had some crazy game show setup going on here.”He slung one arm haphazardly over the back of his chair, grabbing his glass with his other hand, taking a large swig of his own wine. Obi-wan resisted the temptation to place his feet on the table - he was sure he had already annoyed the Count by guzzling what was certain to be a very expensive beverage and he didn’t want to push his luck _too_ far. “Anyway,” he continued, “I just wanted to get out of that giant booby trap in one piece. You were taking us out one by one. Don't think you can blame me for trying to better my odds with more living bodies than dead.”

“You mean you helped the others so you would be able to use them as a tactical advantage later on?” Dooku raised his own glass in the bounty hunter’s direction. “Very cunning, Mr. Hardeen. I would go so far as to call it ruthless. I can appreciate that in a man.”

Obi-wan internally recoiled at the false praise.

Dooku thankfully allowed the conversation to lapse from there and Obi-wan took the moment to observe his surroundings. Brown and grey paneling gave the dining chamber a muted, almost forest-like feel. Various pieces of art - all originals, the Jedi was certain - adorned the walls. A series of tall, wooden cabinets were clustered near the far end of the table. In front of him was a large window that looked out on the dramatic landscape of Serenno with its rugged mountains and green valleys. The Jedi settled further into to his _very_ comfortable chair. It was a pity that this was the home of his sworn enemy. While Obi-wan himself didn’t need or desire such luxury, he would have welcomed the opportunity to consider the artwork and view in a less stressful situation. 

The main doors behind him _whirred_ open and a small army of server droids rolled into the room, carrying plates of varying sizes. The Jedi’s stomach immediately growled audibly at the smell of food - _real_ food. Dooku raised a quizzical, amused eyebrow in his direction and Obi-wan’s temper flared.

_A less stressful situation would include Dooku ceasing this observation of my every movement like I was some womprat in a lab._

“What?” asked the bounty hunter with his typical bluntness. "I'm hungry." Obi-wan was grateful for the cover of Rako Hardeen - it gave him an excuse to forgo his usual cultured speech patterns. He would never speak to someone, even Count Dooku, in the way that Rako Hardeen would, but it was a relief to not have to hide behind metaphor and elaborate word-play given his level of both mental and physical exhaustion. Especially when he could feel the tension within himself rising with each cock of an eyebrow from the Sith. 

The Count merely smirked in response as the droids set the first course down on the table. Sahbiye, by the look of it, a dish Obi-wan had not eaten in quite some time. Dooku picked up his salad fork - one of three forks laid out at the table setting - and began to gently probe at the leafy greens. 

“Do help yourself, Mr. Hardeen. I assure you nothing here is poisoned or otherwise compromised.” He took a delicate bite. “I would imagine a man in your kind of…work does not have the opportunity to dine well often. I suggest you take advantage of the situation.”

He was right, of course. Not only had Obi-wan not dined well in recent months, he had barely dined at all, living off a steady supply of tasteless ration bars on the front lines of the war, and that was when he ate at all.

Obi-wan looked down at the three forks in front of him. He knew full well which piece silverware he was supposed to use for this part of the meal. Qui-gon had schooled him well in the arts of deportment and diplomacy, which had included a very thorough few months memorizing the exact use for every possible eating implement in over three hundred different cultures.

Back when the roles of the Jedi were peacekeeping and diplomacy, not wanton warfare, deception, and violence.

He grabbed blindly for the first fork that came into his fingers. Rako Hardeen would not know and most likely not care about the subtle intricacies of dining etiquette. He sensed Dooku’s eyes on him, flashing in something that almost resembled amusement. Obi-wan furrowed his brow and stabbed at the salad in front of him, trying to quell his annoyance at Dooku, his sudden ire at the thought of the hypocrisy of the Jedi Order.

Dooku did not pursue further conversation, and the two men dined in a silence that was only broken by the occasional metallic clang of silverware or the _whirr_ of a droid. 

Course after course was brought out - stewed Bhillen, roasted Gorak, Tiingilar casserole.All, of course, accompanied by some of the finest wine that Obi-wan had ever tasted. Perhaps it was the food, perhaps it was the alcohol (it certainly could not have been the company) but Obi-wan was having difficulty keeping himself from actually _enjoying_ the meal. 

He ignored the strange mixture of pleasure and guilt that rose from those thoughts, straining to direct his attention elsewhere. What did Dooku _want_ from him? Obi-wan had to figure that if his cover had been blown, he would have been taken prisoner or dead by now, certainly not sitting in the middle of a sumptuous feast . 

But to do all of this - for a bounty hunter?Who was the subject of suspicion not only from Dooku, but the other criminals who survived The Box? It made little sense to the Jedi, who contemplated all of this over his last bite of Tranna nougat cream. Almost immediately after he set his spoon down, the server droids rolled by and took away his dish and any remaining silverware, carrying it all to an adjacent kitchen. The doors  _whooshed_ shut and Obi-wan was left alone, fully alone, with the Sith.

The Count took his napkin and dabbed at his mouth, placing it on the table and leaning back in his chair. “So tell me, Mr. Hardeen. How did you manage to kill the Jedi Obi-wan Kenobi?”

Obi-wan blanched and his heart leapt into his throat.  _How did…_

But it didn’t matter how Dooku had gotten that information. Information which was not supposed to have left Coruscant…

_Eval._

He clenched a fist. _I should have finished it when -_

Obi-wan immediately banished the thought. This was _not_ the time he wanted to test his control. 

“Sniper rifle. Same as you saw in the Box.” The answer was curt, and he prayed that would be the end of the conversation.

Dooku picked up his remaining wine, holding it up to the last rays of sun that passed through the large windows that overlooked the Serenno mountains. He inspected the contents, peering through the bottom of the glass. The liquid, already crimson, somehow turned a blood-red in the light. “Hmmm.” Dooku glanced over, meeting the bounty hunter’s gaze, and smiled. “It’s a rare thing for a Jedi, especially one of the caliber of Obi-wan Kenobi, to be brought down by a mere sniper.”

Hardeen grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Must’ve gotten lucky then.”

Dooku narrowed his eyes, the base of his glass striking the marble table with a hollow, pitched _clang_ that resonated in the high-ceilinged room. “I have found, Mr. Hardeen, that there is no such thing as luck.” The words were cold and precise in their enunciation, and the quicksilver that was Yan Dooku’s Force presence hardened under his glacial stare.

Obi-wan's heartbeat ratcheted up another few notches and he swore Dooku could _hear_ it through his skin. It took every ounce of control the Jedi possessed to not crack under the icy glare. To not give up this horrible, complicated game right there and confess to Dooku that no, Obi-wan Kenobi was _not_ dead. That Obi-wan Kenobi _did_ possess more skill than that - enough skill, in fact, to fool the entire Jedi Council into thinking that he hadn’t -

A small sigh. A lowered voice. The Force moved again. “Kenobi’s death is a disappointment, to be certain.”

Obi-wan felt his eyebrows go skyward. 

_Forgive me Count, but haven’t you been trying very hard to kill me the past few years?_

“I thought you Separatists and Jedi were on opposite sides of the war,” offered the disguised Jedi, hoping to mask his own confusion over Dooku’s statement even while he worked to keep his composure.

“Oh yes, we are.” The Count rose from his seat, turning his back to Obi-wan, hands clasped behind his back. He walked towards the large, and undoubtably expensive Kriin-wood cabinet on the far side of the table, coming to pause in front of its closed doors. Dooku made no immediate move to open the large compartment. “But Master Kenobi showed great promise, and I had hoped one day to enter into…more civilized discussions with him about the direction of the Jedi Order. To share some information that I believe he would have found quite compelling.”

Obi-wan swallowed. He knew full well the Count’s opinion of the Jedi Order. He had wrested that much from Yoda. They were corrupt, they had stagnated, they were pawns of the Senate.

The Jedi felt light-headed. Had he not had the exact same thoughts over the past week? Had he not cursed the Council? His own decision to betray Anakin?

The necessity of the situation with F’rkor?

He brought his gaze to the Count once more. The Force swirled with a strange longing.

“Of course,” continued Dooku, as if he had not noticed the faraway look in the Concordian’s eyes. “I was rebuffed by the Jedi, by Kenobi - much to his own detriment, if I might say. Had he agreed, he would have learned that..." Dooku shook his head, sighing again, more deeply this time. "The war has been a terrible necessity. A way to counter a Republic with too much power, a government that is corrupt at its core.” The Sith leveled his gaze at Obi-wan. “An Order that has turned its back on its ideals.”

“I could care less about either one,” Hardeen countered immediately, full of cynical bite, full of utter  _frustration_ at the dangling of information right in front of his face. _I would have learned what, dear Count?_

The Count turned from the cabinet, placing his hands on the table directly across from Obi-wan, leaning in ever so slightly, practically leering at the bounty hunter. “Well then, Mr. Hardeen. If politics aren’t your motivation, then what is? It certainly cannot be credits. I saw the way you saved your brethren in the Box. They way you spared Moralo Eval’s life when you had the right, the obligation even - to end him right there.” Dooku leaned back, his tall figure casting a shadow over the table. 

“What kind of bounty hunter kills a Jedi yet saves his rivals? Especially a Concordian?” Dooku practically growled the final question and Obi-wan felt the Force turn ominous.

Obi-wan paused, not having an easy answer at the ready. To keep his cover, he _should_ have finished off Eval, let Bane fail, allowed the whole lot of them to meet their ultimate demise. He would have done the Republic a favor, done the Order a favor by eliminating a very real threat to their stability. 

And how _good_ would it have felt to feed that growing need inside of him? That creature, that _thing_ which hid beneath, that demanded more and more with each passing day.

_Jedi. Jedi. You are a Jedi. You do not just kill because it is convenient, because it is easy_. But the intrusive thoughts had been increasing ever since his stint in the Republic prison, ever since he had let go and…

He felt a fresh wave of pleasure at the memory. _No. *That* had been duty._ Obi-wan chanced a glance at the Sith. Dooku was going to let him drown in the silence, in his own denial, his _lies._

“Look, I got hired for a job,” Hardeen responded quickly. “A man’s gotta eat, you know. I killed Kenobi, got thrown in jail, and found my way out into this crazy plan. And the way I see it, the best bounty hunters survived.” Obi-wan took the moment to clean something from his teeth, something he was sure the Concordian would do. He didn’t miss the subtle indication of disgust that manifested itself in the twitch of Dooku’s eyebrow. Obi-wan allowed himself the small flush of pleasure he received from both visibly irritating and more importantly, distracting the Sith Lord.

Obi-wan leaned in towards Dooku, placing both elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of his face. “Best bounty hunters means we get _this_ job done well and fast. Bane and Eval double-crossed me, but I can get my revenge on them later, _after_ this is all over.”

The Count raised his eyebrows and he felt Dooku’s Force presence, which had been circling him like a bird of prey, retreat. 

“I am impressed, Rako Hardeen. I can appreciate a man who not only realizes the true value of strategic partnerships, but is also able to see the larger picture.”

And this time there was no mistaking the strange sense of approval that was emanating from the Count. Somehow this conversation was suddenly not about Rako Hardeen, the plot to kidnap the Chancellor, or the Box. Suddenly the implications of their statements were larger, holding more weight…

_Overthinking, Kenobi._

The Count turned his back to him, finally opening the cabinet doors. Hardeen scrunched his face in confusion. _What kind of show was this?_ A bizarre, fantastic notion of Dooku hiding all kinds of terrible Sith artifacts suddenly sprang to the forefront of Obi-wan’s mind, like something out of a holo-movie. 

But the deep-stained doors swung open only to reveal glassware, decanters, and a few other pieces used merely for decorative purposes.

Dooku selected one that held a liquid of a particularly violent shade of purple, a color that somehow struck Obi-wan as familiar. He was reminded of his strange dream in the prison. The deep blue mixed with his own blood. The awful purple that swirled around him as the colors froze -

“A small digestif?”

Dooku was holding a small tumbler in his hand, offering it to Obi-wan.

“No, that’s okay.” Obi-wan held a hand up. _Focus, Kenobi._

The Sith only smiled, raising his own drink at Hardeen before taking a sip. Obi-wan’s eyes wandered towards the open cabinet. Something there was drawing his attention…something that was familiar.

Obi-wan surveyed the shelves. A set of glasses, antique Alderaanian if he was correct. Expensive wouldn’t even begin to describe the very rare glassware. Enough decanters of different spirits to souse the entire Jedi Council twice over. It occurred to Obi-wan that it was a terrible waste - to have all of this, and to only keep the company of droids.

There was a glint of something in the opposite corner of the cabinet. Something rectangular, a wooden box with a glass lid. It held a long, brown strand of some sort, or a set of strands - Obi-wan tried to focus his vision. The strands were arranged in a braid, he now saw, a braid that was tied off with strings of various colors…

Shock ripped through him and his stomach lurched. He couldn't hear if Dooku had said anything over the roaring his ears. 

_Oh Force._

It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

But there was no denying the familiarity of it, the echoes of a Force signature that he knew so well, that he hadn’t felt in so many years.

The Jedi hid his trembling hands under the table. The scar on his right palm began to itch furiously. 

He longed to touch it, to bring it closer to his eyes. It would not bring back the dead, he knew that much, but to just have one more opportunity…

“Ah, I see something has…caught your interest, Mr. Hardeen.” Dooku’s tone betrayed no emotion.

_Perhaps it’s not his. Perhaps it’s…from a dead Jedi._ A dead Padawan. A war trophy.

He calmed, his breaths evening, his hands now steady. The world righted itself.

Yes, that was what it had to be. A war trophy. It made more sense. There could be no other explanation.

Dooku reached his arm inside the cabinet and pulled out the box, the look on his face almost close to…sentimental. 

“A piece of ephemera, from an old student.” Dooku frowned. “An old friend.”

Obi-wan felt the words as if they were a physical blow to his body.

There, in Dooku’s hands, was the last physical remnant of Qui-gon Jinn. A Padawan braid from years ago - before Dooku had turned, before the war, before Obi-wan.

Before Naboo.

Dooku contemplated the box for a minute, cradling it in his arm with a gentleness that Obi-wan could barely believe the Sith possessed.

Oh, how he yearned to reach out and touch it, even with just the Force.

“He was a good man, cut down too soon.” Dooku straightened, his demeanor darkening. “The Jedi…” The sentence was left unfinished. 

Dooku didn’t need to finish the thought. Obi-wan knew, all too well, what the consequences of the Council’s inaction had been. The Order had failed Qui-gon when they refused to accept the fact that the Sith had returned.

The Order had failed them all.

Hardeen shifted uncomfortably in his chair, raising both hands in a defensive posture. “Look, I don’t understand any of this. I’m just here to get paid, not get involved with Republic politics or the weird history of the Jedi.”

Dooku didn’t move but seemed to tighten his grip on the container with Qui-gon’s braid ever so slightly. “Do not fear, Mr. Hardeen, you will be paid, you have my word. Unlike the Jedi, I do not lie to those in my employ.” The Sith allowed a moment for the statement to settle. A month ago, Obi-wan would have taken umbrage at Dooku’s criticism of the Jedi, although it would certainly have not been the first time someone had hurled that particular statement at him or the Order. But now…

Where was truth, really? Lies and deception swirled around the Order. The Senate was awash in corruption. He had been taught from a young age that the Dark Side fed off the perversion of truth. And yet Obi-wan was certain that the man in front of him was not lying. Not now, at least. 

“Surely you must have gathered some intelligence on Kenobi. A man does not simply go around killing Jedi without some preparation.”

“Why does it matter to you? The man’s dead,” Obi-wan retorted.

“It matters, Mr. Hardeen,” Dooku took a seat directly across from the Jedi, “because even the dead have a peculiar habit of resurrecting.” 

_Not in my experience,_  Obi-wan thought bitterly as he avoided glancing at the box in Dooku's hands. The conversation was nearing dangerous ground and the Jedi bit the inside of his mouth as he clung to notion that if Dooku had any idea who he was, he would be dead right now. Dead or at least in stun cuffs, most likely broken and bleeding. 

_Just play along. Give the man what he wants. Get through this._

Hardeen leaned forward on the table, sighing as he did. “Alright, yeah, I gathered some intel on Kenobi. Loner. Only real associates were Skywalker and Tano.”

“That’s all, Mr. Hardeen? So far I am barely impressed.”

Obi-wan frowned and grit his teeth. “Impressed or not, I did my job.” He pressed a finger into the table to emphasize his point. “Anyway, Kenobi had been taken off active duty and wasn’t seen for a couple of weeks. Only reemerged the week before I killed him. Looked real bad, all battered or something.”

Dooku stood. “Very interesting, Mr. Hardeen. Please continue.”

“Not much else to say. I got intel from my source that Kenobi was going to be out on a cartel investigation. I lined up the shot and that was it.” Obi-wan sniffed loudly. “A little easy for someone who was supposed to be some kind of paragon of the Jedi Order.”

“Do explain, Mr. Hardeen.” The Count's interest was obviously piqued.  _Not good._

Obi-wan was digging his own grave with his tongue but somehow he couldn’t stop himself. He was too vulnerable right now, with that sick reminder of Qui-gon staring him in the face. He didn’t trust himself, and Dooku kept _prodding_ , was keeping him here hostage, interrogating him without a single threat or weapon. 

“I dunno. The man was some kind of General, some kind of big deal Jedi. Guess I was surprised it was so easy. Guess the Jedi aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, eh? Figured they'd take some kind of caution with someone that important.”

Why was he telling Dooku this? _Shut up, Kenobi, just SHUT UP._ There was that awful buzzing in his ears again. He had better control than this, but the words kept coming out of his mouth. All because of a few strands of hair...

Qui-gon's hair. Qui-gon, who was his Master for so many years. Qui-gon, who had sentenced him to a life of farming on Bandomeer. Qui-gon, who abandoned him on Melida/Daan. Qui-gon, who took Anakin Skywalker as his Padawan before Obi-wan had been Knighted _in front of the entire Council._ Qui-gon, who even as a Force spirit on Mortis, had not once asked about Obi-wan’s well-being, who had not a single word of encouragement for Obi-wan after being saddled with the extraordinary task of training the most powerful Jedi to come through the Temple in recent history.

Qui-gon, whose approval Obi-wan never felt he had, truly. Qui-gon, whose Master stood in front of him - his lineage. If Obi-wan couldn’t have wrangled approval from his own Master, then perhaps he would from -

“Mr. Hardeen?”

Obi-wan started, meeting the cool calculating gaze of Dooku. Quickly, more quickly than he even knew was possible, he swallowed the rising tide of resentment, the long-buried feelings of abandonment, the well of anxiety that told him that he was not capable of the large responsibilities that had been placed upon his shoulders.  The grief he still held on to for the early demise of his flawed Master.

The feelings of frustration that he was never _quite_ what he could be - always holding himself back, restraining himself in some way or another. 

All of that, in a blink, was subsumed inside himself. Controlled - barely - but controlled, under the layer of frozen water that quivered with the intensity of feeling that the single act of producing Qui-gon’s braid had produced. 

The Force prodded and poked at him, looking for some kind of weakness, some fallibility. The way it moved around him, trying to nudge at his most vulnerable areas, retracing the grooves of previously exhumed memories, from when he had been held captive on Geonosis - but no, Dooku didn’t know. The Jedi held strong and after a few moments he felt the metallic presence retreat. 

Obi-wan would have sworn he once again saw that shadow of approval pass over the Sith’s face. 

Dooku gave the box in his arms one more meaningful look, and something was reflected in the Count’s expression that Obi-wan couldn’t quite place, couldn’t quite comprehend, almost as if Dooku was briefly in a past life. He replaced the last piece of Qui-gon Jinn in the cabinet and locked the door.

It was only the hair of a long-dead man, but the moment the door closed it was like losing his Master all over again. Obi-wan once again felt the profound sense of loss of the man who had raised him, felt again that emptiness that had not ever quite been filled. The feeling of being unmoored and utterly alone, even with hundreds of other Jedi surrounding him, even with the constant presence of Anakin in his life.

Dooku coughed discreetly, catching the Jedi’s attention. “And now, Mr. Hardeen, it is time to get back to the business at hand. Tomorrow you will assist in kidnapping the Chancellor of the Republic.” The moment was over and Dooku was once again an impenetrable wall of marble. “Realize that with your…talents, Mr. Hardeen, I shall be holding you personally responsible if matters should go awry.” The Sith’s eyes hardened for just a moment.

Obi-wan stood, understanding the unspoken command that the dinner was over. The bounty hunter walked to the door, which opened to reveal the same droid that had escorted him to the bizarre meeting in the first place. The Jedi chanced one last glance at the cabinet as he went by, trying to reach out to touch that presence one last time.

“Good night, Mr. Hardeen.”

 

* * *

 

Yan Dooku watched the retreating form of Rako Hardeen - Obi-wan Kenobi - even after the doors to the room had closed, feeling for the man’s Force signature, or lack thereof. 

There had been no doubt in the Count’s mind before the dinner, and now he haddefinitive proof.

Obi-wan Kenobi was compromised. At least according to Jedi standards. 

Not only was the man compromised, but he had seriously studied the shielding technique that Dooku had led him to, and he had done so behind the Council’s back, to great success.

Dooku, of course, did not see it in exactly those terms. Kenobi was merely beginning to realize the true nature of things, was beginning to see through the manipulations, to listen for the honeyed lies, to smell the festering _rot_ within the Jedi Order and the Republic itself.

It was the Jedi Order that had effectively broken the man, just as it had done to Dooku so many years ago. 

There was so much buried beneath that cool veneer, so much _emotion_ that went unexpressed, that only manifested itself in Kenobi’s sharp, acerbic wit. He had read the file on the man when he had deleted Kamino from the Jedi Archives, had read the reports on Bandomeer, Xanatos, and of course, the events of Naboo. 

Kenobi was a veritable pressure cooker of repression and it impressed the Count that the man had been able to hang on this long, that the Council hadn’t come to the realization that their “perfect Jedi” suffered from the cardinal sins of attachment, frustration, and yes, anger. But Dooku had felt the stirrings of it on Geonosis. He had tried to reach out then, hoping that the mere conjuring of Qui-gon’s name and the truth of the Sith lord in the Senate would push Kenobi over the edge. But the man had been too indoctrinated in the Jedi, had hung on to the Code as a lifeline to such a degree that it blinded him, as it had the entire Council.

But now…

Dooku smiled, taking in the multi-colored sunset through the window. When Kenobi finally turned, when the man embraced his potential - 

Was it misplaced sentiment to wish to train the man that was his lineage? To have that living reminder of Qui-gon - Kenobi, who was his own man but who ever so often mimicked a hand gesture, a turn of phrase from his own pupil? Kenobi, who had somehow inherited Dooku's own refined demeanor and insistence on decorum, traits that Qui-gon had forgone in favor of the wildness of nature, of the Living Force.

No, Dooku would not allow himself such feelings.  _Weakness._ He could not, however, ignore the ease with which Kenobi wielded the shielding technique. The way the man spun lies and half-truths as if he were born a politician. To waste such a talent on the Jedi...

They would set the universe straight and end the corrupt rule of the Republic. Reshape the Jedi Order into what it _should_ be, not the shell it had become, hypocritical and paralyzed by its own dogma. 

Kenobi would fall before him and together, they would eradicate the threat of his own Master.

_Sidious’s time is coming to an end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes!
> 
> To those who are wondering, Dooku and Obi-wan *will* talk again in this story. We're probably about 3-4 chapters from the end (of this particular tale).
> 
> There were certain passages in this that were...intensely personal. Kind of interesting to see some of my own internal monologues reflected in another character. 
> 
> The next few chapters might take a while to get up so thanks in advance for your patience!
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting! Stop by my tumblr @legobiwan if you want to say hi :)
> 
> Chapter 12 preview: Anakin's fighting with everyone and we're headed towards Naboo....


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....hello there!
> 
> *waves sheepishly*
> 
> It's kind of been forever since I updated. Real life took over and this summer was just insanity.
> 
> The good news - I have the majority of the rest of the story drafted.
> 
> The bad news - I'm seriously hoping there's not too much of an interruption in style or content due to the long wait.
> 
> But, onwards we go! Kind of a slower chapter setting up the last section of our story!

“You don’t know that’s true, Anakin.”

Padmé Amidala wrapped her blue shawl tighter around her shoulders, shrinking into herself as the man in front of her paced back and forth across the room.

“It is, Padmé!” Anakin came to a sudden stop, swinging an arm downwards. He stared at his wife, then the floor,as if he were trying to burn a hole in the rug with his glare alone. “The _kriffing bantha kark_ Council - “

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Anakin, please!” The Senator’s voice strained, her throat tight, her vocal chords not quite working as they should. She took a moment to rub her forehead. “I understand you’re upset but - ” 

Anakin’s head swiveled in her direction and he barked out an awful laugh, his eyes wide in what would have been amusement in any other circumstance. The Jedi mumbled something incoherent under his breath and resumed his frenetic pacing. Padmé clasped her hands together, rubbing her thumb on top of a scar on her index finger. It wasn’t like she hadn’t expressed her opinion already. Multiple times, even. But Anakin had been as receptive as a durasteel wall since he had returned from Orondia…

“He had. NO. RIGHT!” A mauve decorative pillow on the far side of the couch lifted with Anakin’s arm, careening towards the kitchen as the young man threw his limb out to the side.

“Oh goodness gracious me,“ a muffled, metallic voice called.

Padmé sighed, willing herself to stand. At least nothing had broken. She walked softly over to the prone droid, ignoring the murmurs of an apology from behind her. She leaned over to pick up the pillow.

“Padmé, I - “

The words died in Anakin's mouth as the Naboo Senator turned her head and gave him an icy glare. Pursing her lips, she threw the pillow back at her husband, who caught it easily, holding it tight against his body as if it were a child’s tooka. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” the golden protocol droid tittered from the floor.

Padmé brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s okay, Threepio." She leaned over to help the droid upright. "Why don’t you stay in the bedroom for now?”

"Oh yes, wonderful idea," he responded, the steps of his metallic limbs fading as the droid disappeared through the door.

A heavy silence filled the room with Threepio gone.The Naboo Senator brushed her hair behind her ear again.

It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. The hour or two of absolute distress - the yelling, gesticulating, the occasional launching of some object of little importance across the room. And of course, there was the long list of those to blame - a litany, really, that saw fault with everyone from the Jedi Council to the Senate to the laundry attendants at 500 Republica. 

Padmé turned to face her husband, her eyes not quite reaching his. 

It hadn’t happened for some time - at least not in her presence. Not since she had sat him down sometime after Geonosis and told him in no uncertain terms that no matter how upset he was, that this was not acceptable behavior. And with the exception of the Rush Clovis episode, he had mostly kept himself in check since the war had begun, which made sense - he had gotten older, had been knighted, given his own Padawan. Padmé ran a hand over her head, stopping when she reached the small elastic that kept her long hair in a ponytail. She pulled down, allowing her hair to fall free, keeping the hair tie in her hands. Anakin wasn’t a _bad_ person. He loved so much, was so loyal to her, so devoted -

She sighed, watching her husband’s shoulders slump, the pillow still held tight against his body. He looked so much like a child - lost, waiting for some kind of reassurance.

“Padmé, I’m so sorry.” He took a few tentative steps towards her. “I just - “ A clenched fist. 

The Senator rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn. It was at least two hours after midnight and there was still so much to do.

She had to prepare a speech for the Senate and was due on a transport for Naboo early the next morning. She would have to perform multiple duties at the Festival of Light - meeting with the Queen, attending summits with the Gungans, dining with the Chancellor. The list went on and on. Padmé dimly wondered if she still had that stash of caff pills somewhere in her drawers.

“Please,” Anakin pleaded. He had moved to sit on the far end of the couch, looking like a chastened school boy. 

Yes, he was her husband, and she loved him.

But Anakin could be exhausting. He required so much and with Obi-wan gone…

She felt a prickling of annoyance at the elder Jedi Master. Anakin wasn’t _wrong_ , even if his reactions in the moment were. If Obi-wan truly _was_ still alive that would mean that the Council had planned this, that they - that _Obi-wan_ of all people - had agreed to what was a morally dubious act at best -

Padmé gave her husband a sympathetic glance.

“Ani,” she sighed, moving to sit next to him, taking his hands in hers. “We’ll get through this. Obi-wan’s alive, right? That’s a good thing,” she spoke softly.

She felt his grip tighten and he let out a shuddering breath. 

“Yeah, he’s alive. I’m certain.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Just - why - how. Padmé, I just don’t understand. If they needed to protect the Chancellor - I mean, we have an _army_ , Padmé, an entire army at our disposal! And me! And Ahsoka! I just can’t believe the Council… “

His words trailed off as Padmé unconsciously grit her teeth. She wasn’t sure she could deal with another diatribe about the evils of the Jedi Council, as much as she was finding herself agreeing with at least some of what her husband said. 

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure _what_ to think about the Council. Anakin had revealed to her that there was a kidnapping threat to the Chancellor at the Festival of Light, and Obi-wan had been sent deep undercover to infiltrate the plot.

At least, that's what he assumed had happened. The Council wasn't so forthcoming with the details of the plan, only divulging as much as they felt necessary in light of Anakin's discovery of Obi-wan's continued existence.

She held her husband's hands a little tighter. She really shouldn't know even this much about such sensitive information...

But once she was told, she hadn't been able to keep herself from analyzing the situation. After all, how many times had there been violence - kidnapping, injury, even death - threatened against the Senate? Even the Chancellor? 

_Too many_ , she thought as Anakin settled in next to her. 

So how and why was _this_ plot any different from the others? She could understand the GAR, the Jedi - being stretched thin on the many fronts of the war, but this _was_ the Chancellor, and they certainly could afford him some more protection without going to such extremes.

Of course, the most sensible decision would have been to cancel the event or at least the Chancellor's appearance. But Palpatine would never back down in the face of a threat such as this, especially with the war going the way it was. _“We must think of the citizens,”_ she could hear him saying, _“and how they would react to such things. We musn't allow empty words to intimidate us, to lower our morale in such trying times."_

Was there something she was missing? Public opinion of the war had been plummeting as of late, and perhaps the extra guards would be seen as an indication that they were losing the home front. Or perhaps it went deeper than that. Why were the Jedi - and not just any Jedi, but one of Obi-wan's stature - involved like this? It had to be more than just the usual threats from the CIS, from rogue assassins, from bounty hunters looking to make a quick credit. 

No, there was something  _else_ , but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. 

She shook her head, too tired to examine the matter any further. “Anakin, I’m sure the Council had their reasons. Perhaps the Chancellor himself requested this course of action.”

Anakin stiffened. “Palpatine would never suggest something like this, Padmé. He's an honorable man.”

She gave her husband a wan smile even as her stomach tightened. Maybe. Maybe not. Palpatine’s extension of emergency powers, the consolidation of planetary services, the sudden, quiet retirements of high-profile government officials - and now this…

She couldn’t speak to the matters of the Jedi, but she was a career politician, and could see, if not fully accept, the frightening trends in Palpatine’s government. Somehow even the audacity of these recent events didn't seem so out of line with how the Chancellor's office had been operating since the start of the war. 

But there was no way to convince Anakin of any of this. He was too close to Palpatine, enjoyed the man's confidence almost more than Mas Amedda, it seemed. 

Her husband leaned back, resting his neck on the edge of the couch. He stared at the high ceiling of the apartment.

“I thought he was better than this, Padmé.”

She stilled.

“Not like the rest of them. Even if he’s stuffy and repressed I just thought - “ Anakin paused.

His voice lowered. “I should have known from the beginning. _‘Dreams pass in time, Anakin.’_ Sithspit. If he’d just listened, mom wouldn’t be - “

Padmé froze.

They had never truly spoken about that moment again, when Anakin had confessed to, to - that terrible thing. She had somehow been able to turn a blind eye to what he had done at the time, only to be struck with the awful realization - the true meaning of his actions - several weeks after the debacle on Geonosis.

Her non-stop work schedule allowed her to forget, to bury her unease - about Tatooine, about Rush Clovis, Anakin’s relationship with Palpatine, about all of it - in unrelenting fatigue, in the constant vigilance of keeping their marriage secret.

Anakin laid down, resting his head in her lap and she automatically began to run her hand through his hair, her thoughts a million light years away. 

Within seconds he had drifted off into a deep slumber, and Padmé was left alone with her reservations.

 

* * *

 

They crept forward through the verdant foliage, the damp ground swallowing the sound their footsteps.It was still dark, the night air devoid of the humid weight that would settle with the first peek of light. In a few hours, the sun would shine bright, and they would hide, their plans - no, _his_ plan - in the shadows. He checked his chrono - three hours until dawn. Plenty of time to complete the first step.

Obi-wan reached out through the Force - the small hangar was mostly devoid of lifeforms, just a skeleton team he assumed were mechanics ambling from place to place. He shook his head. Really, _this_ was the security for the arrival of the Chancellor? The Republic leader hadn’t landed yet but for Naboo’s preparations to be so thin, even in this secondary facility...

It made their job easy. Too easy.

Rako Hardeen followed the lithe figure of Cad Bane, his blaster drawn in the ready position. The heavy purr of the ventilation system resonated throughout the entire building, just loud enough to cover the muffled outbursts of surprise - of pain - that Obi-wan could only hear with the aid of the Force. Two taken out by Embo. Another three by Derrown. The Duros bounty hunter unhooked a cable line from his belt and brought down the last of the Naboo workers, dragging him closer until Bane brought out his own blaster and shot the man dead in the chest.

Hardeen’s face remained impassive, but Obi-wan felt fire in the backs of his eyes. Reality briefly warped, like a youngling’s play mirror - bloated and grotesque, the image of Bane falling prone before him, the life fading from his eyes - before righting itself. Hardeen glanced down at the corpse on the floor, nudging it with his foot.

Obi-wan quickly swallowed the rising bile in his throat even as he shivered in exhilaration. 

“Are we ready, Hardeen?” inquired the deep-voiced, hooded individual behind him.

The Concordian pressed his back against a stack of crates, blaster held in both hands, facing upwards. He peered around the corner, reaching out carefully with the Force at the same time, wary of attracting the attention of the hooded man.

No one except the bounty hunters. All the others were…permanently indisposed.

“All clear, Count Dooku.” 

Obi-wan lowered his weapon, reholstering his blaster as the Sith came to stand next to him, arms crossed. The Jedi placed his own hands on his hips, waiting for his next orders.

It was a laughable situation. Dooku could have defended himself easily against any of the hapless maintenance workers. The Sith had to have already known that the area was secure, even before stepping foot inside. Force, the man probably could have wiped out the entire hangar with a few flicks of his wrist and saved them all the trouble.

But Dooku needed a show of power. Needed to have the others do his dirty work. 

Needed, _for whatever Force-forsaken reason_ , to have Hardeen act as his personal intermediary.

The Sith lowered the hood of his cloak, giving a brief nod to the Concordian. And then he strode towards a far wall, heading for something resembling a drafting console. Obi-wan followed, gesturing for the other bounty hunters to join them. They quickly assembled around the grey table, Obi-wan once again finding himself at Dooku’s left. 

Just as he'd been at that dinner. 

The Sith placed his hands on the table. “This is it, my friends. A day of reckoning for the Republic,” Dooku began in his most stentorian tones, as if he were addressing the Senate, and not a rag-tag group of bounty hunters. 

Obi-wan barely kept himself from rolling his eyes, hoping his face was set in the semi-permanent scowl that Rako Hardeen always seemed to wear. Didn't Dooku ever tire of the sound of his own voice?

“I have it from a very reliable source that everything will happen exactly as we planned,” Dooku continued, either not noticing or ignoring the collective apathy of his audience. “Execute your roles as you've been instructed, and you will all be immortalized in history.” Obi-wan shot a glance around the table. No, no one seemed impressed with _that_ prospect.

Dooku cleared his throat. “Not to mention, rewarded with enough credits that you will never have to work again.” 

This time the muted fervor in the Force was unmistakable. Obi-wan crossed his arms, unsurprised, but still disgusted at the pure avarice of the other beings. There was so much more at stake in this war than credits, and for the balance of the Republic to be treated as a trinket -

The Sith gestured across the table, flitting his gaze over to Obi-wan for the briefest of moments. He raised an eyebrow, and Obi-wan could have sworn he felt a movement through the Force but -

“I will let Cad Bane take it from here.”

“Listen up, I'm only saying it once,” Cad Bane’s nasal voice cut through the Jedi’s ruminations. “That means you, too, Hardeen.”

Hardeen only glowered in response, meeting Bane’s glare, which was full of undisguised revulsion. 

“Here,” he threw a set of mini data readers on the table, curling his lip at the Concordian before directing his attention at the rest of the group. “Each device tells you your position and essential details about your part of the plot.”

Obi-wan picked up his reader, frowning. “Aren't you gonna tell us how all the pieces fit together?”

The Duros’s hand strayed towards his blaster.

“I think it would be wise to provide a cursory overview, don’t you think?” Dooku interrupted, the hint of a smirk forming on his face.

Bane tensed for a minute, seemingly weighing both the risks and rewards of shooting Hardeen dead right there. Obi-wan held his breath, but the Duros only sighed and pulled his wide-brimmed hat down further.

“Fine. They're your credits,” he replied flatly, waving a noncommittal hand in Dooku’s direction. The bounty hunter adjusted his belt and continued. “Moralo Eval is the getaway driver.” A blue finger pointed towards Embo and Derrown, in succession. “The two of you will act as guards protecting the Chancellor.” 

Bane bent over and briefly disappeared behind the table, only to emerge with a small, thin briefcase, which he shoved towards the Concordian.“And you, Hardeen, are a sniper.” He gave a false smile. “That's all _you_ need to know.”

Obi-wan frowned, eyeing the briefcase and Bane with some degree of uncertainty.

“Once we have the Chancellor, the devices will lead you to the rendezvous point. Now, for our disguises. Everyone step back.”

Bane threw a silver disc onto the table, which immediately illuminated and projected four holograms of Republic clone guards.

“This will get us into the inner circle. Step into the shadow hologram and you will receive your new identity.”

Obi-wan moved back to regard the images.According to Dooku, one of the now-deceased bounty hunters from the Box tournament had pioneered this technology. 

The Jedi put his hand to his chin. This was not the first time Obi-wan had encountered a holographic disguise matrix, but it was certainly the most advanced iteration he had ever seen. It was certainly not something assembled in a back alley in the lower levels of Coruscant. No, this technology needed support, a lab, personnel -

It needed a mountain of credits and access to a stygium supply that not even Obi-wan himself knew the exact location of, so sensitive was that information.

He filed away that particular bit of intelligence for later, ignoring the unease that settled in his stomach. Rako Hardeen stepped forward into the hologram with the others, feeling a slight fluttering sensation as the image attached itself to his body. Obi-wan inspected his mini-transmitter. The small device was the method of operating the hologram, and he paid special attention to the activation buttons and power level indicator. 

It was advanced technology, to be certain, but still not without its limits. He turned the transmitter over in his hand - there was a row of lights illuminated in green, reading one hundred percent. The Jedi did a few quick calculations. It was likely that the hologram would only be active for a few hours before losing power. That gave him at least some idea of the general scope of the plot and its timeline. He then raised an arm to inspect the hologram itself - it flickered slightly with the movement, but otherwise was a perfect model of a Republic guard. 

“When you leave here, you will have no communication with the rest of the team. Any final checks get done here.” Bane turned to Hardeen. “Or you can always bail.”

The Jedi reached for the briefcase on the table, gripping the handle. “I think I’ll stick around, thanks.”

Bane chuckled. “We’ll see for how long, Hardeen,” he replied, inserting a toothpick in his mouth. “All right, then, get to your positions.”

The bounty hunters hesitated for the briefest of moments and then dispersed in opposite directions, each person activating the data pad that held their individual instructions for the kidnapping plot. 

“What are you waiting for Hardeen, a written invitation?” snarled Bane.

The Concordian grunted.  “This had better be worth all the trouble, Bane. All the credits in the galaxy are going to be useless if we all land back in that Republic prison.” 

The Duros growled and Obi-wan felt the slightest amount of satisfaction at getting the last word in on Bane. He gave the bounty hunter a quick, two-fingered salute before turning and marching off towards the exit of the hangar.

The Jedi hastened his pace, his muscles tightening, his flippant demeanor now darkening as he walked away. _This_ _had *all* better be worth the trouble._

 

* * *

 

Obi-wan wandered down the streets of the old city, breathing in the still-cool air of the morning. Sunlight was flickering on the horizon, the dark of the night finally giving way to the kinder hues of the day. He had to admit that Naboo was a beautiful planet, and Theed itself a wonder of architecture, its marble buildings seemingly floating on the city's multiple rivers and gleaming waterfalls.

He came to stop at a junction of two roads, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut against the tidal wave of fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him. The Jedi was raw with lack of sleep, with the relentless stress of this undercover assignment, his eyes and throat dry, his joints swollen, aching. He just needed a moment to - 

He felt a series of vibrations, heard a muted beeping noise emanating from his pocket. Obi-wan scrambled to fish the small device out, his fingers smudging the screen. He checked the data pad - it was an alert. He needed to be in position within ten minutes. Obi-wan looked to the sky and sighed, placing the device back in his pocket; not throwing it on the ground and smashing it into pieces as he desired. _So much for peace_ , he thought, the tendrils of a headache just beginning to accumulate at the edges of his brain. 

_Focus._

He let out a breath. Right. The mission. He mentally ticked off his prerogatives. Kidnap the Chancellor. Deliver him to Dooku. Await further instructions.

The Jedi shook his head. No - wait. That wasn't right. ...save the Chancellor. Stop Dooku. 

The sun glinted off the river next to him and Obi-wan caught a glimpse of his reflection, the gaunt features of Rako Hardeen staring back at him, undulating on the surface of the water.

He quickly looked away and continued towards the palace grounds, picking up his pace. He passed Theed University, its large marble dome looming over the cityscape. He seemed to remember that Chancellor Palpatine had studied there in his youth, some factoid that he must have picked up from a Holonet broadcast that Anakin had on at the time.

Anakin. He barely swallowed over the lump in his throat. What was he going to do about Anakin? 

Guilt tore at his insides. He should have never allowed...

The data pad beeped again. Reluctantly, the Jedi withdrew it from his pocket. Five minutes. 

Obi-wan let out a strangled groan of exasperation. 

He set off again, practically running now, buildings, trees all passing him in a blur, like a dream. Obi-wan veered right where the river Solleu forked, continuing down the southern part of the bank. He indulged in a single glance backwards at the convergence of the two waterways. Hadn’t this been the exact spot where he had surfaced with Qui-gon and Jar Jar so many years ago?

He stopped short, as if he had been hit with a stun blast. Obi-wan bent over, hands on his knees, his breaths shallow from the exertion, his chest heaving.

_ Focus on a single point. _

_ Direct your energies to that point.  _

He glanced to his left. A green, boxy building caught his attention and the world ceased spinning. The concert hall. Most likely some orchestra would be there tonight, maybe even the revered Mon Calamari Ballet, which consistently received rave reviews for its innovative productions of classics such as “Squid Lake.” Obi-wan briefly entertained the ridiculous thought of attending a performance as Rako Hardeen. 

He chuckled to himself, even while wondering if Dooku would attend such an event. Anakin _never_ wanted to go to the theater, Qui-gon was always too distracted and who else could he have roped along? Master Yoda? He laughed again at the image. Absurd. The Jedi squeezed his abdominal muscles tight and stood straight. _No, he was fine, everything was fine, everything was *under* control._  

And then he was off again, this time at a slightly less frenetic pace - he passed a few guards and even some Gungans who were above-world for the Festival. No one gave him a second glance. 

Finally he reached the tower, a residential building on a neglected side of the palace grounds. He sighed, beginning to climb the long flight of stairs that led to the coordinates illuminated on his mini data pad.

Two minutes, it told him.

Halfway up, he stopped at a large window. Obi-wan needed to get his bearings. Despite the fact that he knew Naboo, knew Theed itself quite well, he was still unfamiliar with the palace from this particular perspective. From this angle he could see the back of the grounds, the entirety of the watchtowers, and all the way out to Theed's main hangar, which connected to the generator complex where -

He bit down on his lip, tasting the metallic tang of his own blood. 

_Beep beep beep._

One minute.

_ Focus on a single point. _

_ Direct your energies to that point.  _

He began to climb the stairs again.

_Competent._ The word burned in his thoughts. That was all he had ever been to Qui-gon. Merely competent, and even then, he had only risen to that status at the very end.

All those years, he had craved even the slightest expression of approval from the man. Even to this day, even on that blasted pseudo-planet Mortis, Obi-wan had held out the hope that his former Master, miraculously taking on a semi-corporeal form for just a few moments - would have had just one word of encouragement, one word of thanks, one measly thought to spare for him -

_ Focus on a single point. _

_ Direct your energies to that point.  _

_ Your emotions give you power. _

Obi-wan clenched his fist, allowing the wave of pure ire to wash over him.

The Council had done nothing in the wake of Qui-gon’s murder, barely pausing in their empty-minded recitations of the Jedi Code to truly consider the larger implications of Maul’s appearance. Maybe it hadn’t truly been a Sith, they said, eyeing Obi-wan with a healthy amount of skepticism. The boy is distraught, after all - unbalanced at his Master's death, they had said.

Obi-wan reached the top of the stairs, eyeing the double doors at the end of the hallway. The data reader lit up in flashes of red.

And so nothing had been done. Qui-gon Jinn silently joined the ranks of the other Jedi who had been felled in battle. It was all released into the Force and forgotten.

No, nothing had been done about the events on Naboo - nothing until _his_ discovery of the clone army on Kamino. Until _his_ investigation led him to Geonosis, where _he_ discovered the Separatist Council.

Where he had found Dooku.

Obi-wan reached the doors, violently punching in the key code given to him on his reader, his hands shaking. Force, when had he lost his control like this? Everything danced, whirled around him - the Force slippery and wild, nothing like it had been even a month ago. The doors _whooshed_ open, and his eyes immediately watered, his lungs suddenly heavy. He waved his hand back and forth, dispersing some of the thicker dust clouds that were kicked up in the wake of his arrival, and headed towards a small balcony.

He grabbed hold of the balcony railing while scanning the periphery, locating the rotunda where the Chancellor’s speech was to take place. Obi-wan laughed. He had been placed an absurd distance away from where the speech - the kidnapping - was to take place. Either Dooku and Bane had a very high level of confidence in his sniper abilities, or he was being set up and this was a trap.

The Jedi grinned, baring his teeth. He reaffirmed his grip on the briefcase in his other hand. At least he would be prepared. 

Obi-wan walked back inside, his body pulsing with anticipation. He knelt down and placed the briefcase on the floor, opening it to reveal the unassembled weapon. 

_ Focus on a single point. _

_ Direct your energies to that point. _

The Jedi took the base into his hands, his breaths evening as he assembled the weapon. It was ironic, really. The only person in the Order who had actually reacted, had done anything about the events of Naboo - was Dooku himself.

He screwed the scope on to the barrel. And of course, look how _that_ turned out. Leader of the insurgent planetary systems that was now the CIS, an organization that housed monstrosities such as Grievous and Admiral Trench, that had been the direct cause of so much pain, death, and misery in the galaxy.

He snapped the trigger onto the barrel. The metal squeaked with the pressure. Obi-wan could admit to understanding some discontent with the Order, even the Republic itself…but to become a Sith? It spat in the face of everything Dooku supposedly believed in. It insulted Qui-gon’s memory to become that which slew him.

He paused, looking out the window for a brief moment.

And yet, the man had kept that braid…

Obi-wan scanned the weapon. Almost complete.

But there was something missing. He reached back into the briefcase, feeling for the round edges of the silencer even as the memory returned, unbidden. 

_ “What if I told you that the Republic is now under the control of a Dark Lord of the Sith?” _

The last piece of the weapon clicked into place as he, for some reason, recalled the strange statue he had seen on Nal Hutta, most likely now on its way to Coruscant. Obi-wan stepped on to the balcony, rifle in hand, peering through the lens of the scope as he leveled it against the railing.Yes, that was better. He could see now - Mace had just arrived with a contingent of clones. He could easily take out the Jedi from here and he wouldn’t even know what hit him.

_ "Well done, Master Kenobi." _

Another memory. The Force quivered.

One more day, and it would all be over. He could go back to the Temple. Go back to being Obi-wan Kenobi.

_ And then what? _ The Jedi ran a hand over his face.  _Another grueling session with the Council..._

He shoved the thought from his mind. He had a job to do. Against his better instincts, he dug into his pocket for his other, secret commlink, ignoring the anxiety and dread that welled in the pit of his stomach as he went to hit the ‘transmit’ button to contact Mace.

And then automatic doors behind him _whooshed_ open.

Obi-wan's blood turned cold.

So he had been set up, after all.

The Force stirred, quickly gaining energy.

The Jedi yearned for the comfort of his lightsaber hilt as he lifted the rifle. 

Perhaps it was better this way. Killing with a blaster was one thing. Killing with one's lightsaber, however...

He turned to face his attackers, and -

Shock ripped through Obi-wan. He was barely able to move, to react.

The weapon went limp in his arms.

“Hello again, Mr. Hardeen,” greeted Count Dooku. “We have some work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?!?
> 
> And now we veer from canon a bit :P
> 
> Some lines lifted from Clone Wars, Season 4, "Crisis on Naboo."
> 
> Chapter 13 preview: Dooku lays down the law, Anakin yells some more, and the Sith's plans get interrupted by his own Master. Obi-wan rues some words he says in this past chapter. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Come say hi on tumblr - @legobiwan :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...only two months this time. Better, right?
> 
> I am torn between really liking parts of this chapter and really not liking other parts but if I edit it one more time I'm going to throw myself into the nearest body of water available.

“Skywalker, you’ll be here, next to the Chancellor when the ceremony begins. I’ll be on the opposite side of the platform. Master Plo will be up in the cruiser, in case Dooku tries to send in any of his forces for an ambush.”

A blue hologram of the Naboo palace grounds floated in front of the four Jedi. Ahsoka leaned in to get a better look, although she was certain that at this point she had memorized every single alleyway, building, and canal of the meandering city. She didn’t want to fail any of them. Not after everything that had happened.

“Padawan Tano.” She flinched, quickly shifting her attention to meet the gaze of the frowning Mace Windu. 

The severe Jedi Master hadn’t wanted her assigned to this mission. Barely a day after Orondia, they  had summoned her to the Council room, informing her that  _she_ would need to stay on Coruscant while Skyguy went to Naboo. She had plead with the governing Jedi body - Skyguy _needed_ her, she had been part of this kidnapping investigation since Master Kenobi’s supposed death, _and_ she was familiar with Senator Amidala, having successfully served as her escort many times before. But her arguments had been met with a stony silence. Master Windu had declared the Council's decision the final word.  And that was that.

Or so she had thought until Master Plo had softly ushered the Korun Jedi behind closed doors. Five minutes later, Master Windu had emerged, Plo a few steps behind him. The Jedi Master had rubbed his head, sighed, and ordered her to pack her things. 

Windu gave her an appraising look. “You’ll be in charge of the security of the Senator and her entourage from Naboo. This includes Queen Neeyutnee. There should be plenty of royal guards to back you up, but if you sense any danger whatsoever, _get them out_. The last thing we need is any collateral damage if this kidnapping attempt actually takes place.”

There was a distinct _creaking_ of leather that served as a coda to Master Windu’s statement. Anakin grunted and crossed his arms over chest, hunching over the map. 

“Is there a problem, Skywalker?” He stuck his nose further into the image of the Naboo palace tower.

“I know Ahsoka will show her best judgement,” he replied in monotone, not peeling his eyes off the hologram.Anakin poked at a bush, his finger going straight through the digital foliage. Seemingly content there was nothing further to investigate, he straightened and scowled at the other Jedi. 

“And how does Ob - “ 

Anakin squeezed his eyes shut and forced a harsh breath out his nose.

“How does _our operative_ fit into all of this?”

Mace and Plo exchanged a look. 

Nothing had been right since they had returned from Orondia. Skyguy had barely spoken with her, had barely spoken with anybody in the short time they were grounded on Coruscant. The few times she had tried, he had been either fixing his ship with furious concentration or practicing his _katas_ with such intensity that she thought he might take the walls down. 

“That’s need-to-know information Skywalker, I - “

“ _Bantha poodoo!”_ he yelled. 

Mace pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“We go through all of- “ Anakin punched the air, “ _this_ and all you can tell me is that he’s alive and somehow involved with this operation, but not _how?_ “ 

“Anakin,” Master Plo held up a long-nailed hand, palm facing the irate Jedi. 

“Master Plo, this isn’t _right_ , the Chancellor - “ 

“ _Anakin._ ” Master Plo repeated, this time imbuing the name with the Force, heavy and full. Plo held up his other hand to match the first.

The Kel Dor turned to Mace Windu, his expression inscrutable as ever. 

“We need to tell them.”

The two men stared at each other, Ahsoka didn't even know for how long, so absorbed was she in the subtle battle of wills transpiring right in front of her. 

A lifetime later, Mace broke eye contact,  placing his hands on his hips. His head hung a fraction lower than before.

“Alright. But none of this goes beyond this meeting. Not to any other Jedi, not to the clones, not to _anyone._ Do you both understand this?”

They would have been fools to say no.

“Fine,” Skyguy responded.

Ahsoka only nodded, too wound up with anticipation to trust her own voice.

Mace let out a deep sigh and stared at the ground.

“Obi-wan is not dead, as you’ve figured out from your,” Master Windu’s lip curled, “ _unauthorized_ mission to Nal Hutta and Orondia.”

Almost immediately there was a surge in the Force as Anakin balled his fists, raising one arm in ire, his eyebrows skyrocketing towards the stars.

“ _Force_ , Skywalker,” Mace growled, rolling his eyes. “Show some control, for once.”

“The Chancellor told us - “

“The Chancellor does not have ultimate authority over the Jedi,” Mace interrupted, still glaring at her Master. “You put this entire operation at risk with your rash behavior and inability to follow simple orders.” He swung an open hand across his body. 

Anakin’s face contorted in an ugly rage. “You let those - those criminals go! Do you have any idea- “ The Jedi huffed. “At least the _Chancellor_ cared about catching Hardeen! You couldn’t be bothered - “

_“Skywalker, enough!”_  Mace yelled. “I know you don’t hold the Council in any great esteem but contrary to your opinion, we’re not complete idiots. We knew full well what we were doing when we let Hardeen go.”

Ahsoka didn’t think Anakin’s eyes could get any wider, any larger in disbelief.

Mace inhaled deeply, his barrel chest expanding and then contracting.“We let them go, Skywalker, because we needed information on the kidnapping plot.” The Jedi Master’s voice was edged with danger, his voice low enough that both Anakin and Ahsoka had to strain to hear every word. “As we told you in the Council room, Obi-wan is alive and working deep undercover to help unearth this kidnapping plot, and possibly lead us to Count Dooku himself. He _should_ present himself at the Festival tonight.”

Ahsoka didn’t like the way Mace’s eyebrows wrinkled at the word “should,” didn’t like the uncharacteristic lack of certainty being displayed by the man, the way he suddenly stared into the distance, deep in thought.

Next to her, Anakin was nearly vibrating with anticipation. 

“As I was saying,” Mace began slowly, “Master Kenobi is not just undercover, and - “ he stopped to massage his forehead. “The only reason I’m telling you two this is so we don’t have another repeat of Orondia.”

Ahsoka exchanged a look with her Master. Orondia? Anakin had fought Hardeen there, had nearly killed him until Cad Bane had interfered. 

“The Rako Hardeen you fought on Orondia is not the real Rako Hardeen.”

Dread settled heavy in Ahsoka’s gut. Anakin was nearly  _glowing_  with the energy of the Force whirling around him. 

“And how long did you know this for?” he asked, his voice dark, strained with the effort of keeping his emotions under control. “Where is the real Hardeen - who was the man I fought on Orondia?” Each question crescendoed, louder than the one before. Anakin extended his arm, pointing directly at Master Windu. 

Ahsoka moved a step closer to Skyguy.

“The real Rako Hardeen is in a Republic prison, where he will be staying for a very long time. The Rako Hareen I _hope_ we all see tonight - “ Mace sent a penetrating look at Anakin, " - is Master Kenobi.”

Ahsoka's throat burned with acid, and for a moment she thought she might actually be ill. She shuddered with the memory of Orondia, of the brutal altercation between her Master and...

She didn't want to think about what could have been. 

Skyguy wrapped his arms around himself, tight, using the heel of his boot to dig a small hole in the ground. He had guessed that Hardeen was Obi-wan, was so _sure_ of it despite everything that had pointed against it. And now to hear the truth of it confirmed by the two Jedi Masters... Her Master's shoulders slumped, his blonde hair hanging loose near his face.

No one spoke. A transport with the last detachment of clones - Rex’s unit, from the look of the ship - flew overhead, heading towards the main hangar. When the roar of the engines petered out,Anakin finally lifted his head. 

"You said you _hope_ we see him tonight.”

Mace shifted from foot to foot, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Yes. Well, quite frankly, we’re a little concerned. The last time Obi-wan made contact was on Nal Hutta to request credits to buy a new ship.” The Korun Jedi couldn’t quite keep the annoyance out of his voice at that comment. “We don’t know where he is, if he managed to infiltrate Dooku’s inner circle, or if something else has happened.”

The unspoken statement that Obi-wan could be dead - for real this time - hung heavy in the air around them. Ahsoka gripped her own arms, trying to imagine going through Obi-wan's death a second time, just after they had gotten him back...

“No.” Anakin ran a hand through his hair, dirty blonde strands getting stuck in the leather of his synthetic arm. “I would have felt it. He’s alive.” His voice shook ever so slightly.

Mace shook his head, shutting off the hologram of the map. He stepped closer to the other Jedi, indicating for them to do the same. He looked around before speaking, his voice barely a whisper.

“To be perfectly honest, Skywalker...I agree. But there's something else." Mace fell silent, seeming to be calculating the wisdom of continuing this conversation with the two younger Jedi. He glanced at Plo, who nodded back at him. "Obi-wan’s Force signature has been…difficult to discern recently. You are the only ones who have had any regular interactions with him the past few weeks, and you were the last to see him as Hardeen.” 

Master Windu’s voice dropped nearly under the threshold of audibility.

“We were hoping one of you could provide some insight. Master Kenobi’s disappearance, if we are to assume that it is not due to injury or death, is…a matter of concern of the Council.”

Ahsoka’s heart raced. 

“What is it, Ahsoka?” asked Plo. He had immediately sensed her discomfort.

Anakin stared at her, mouth slightly agape. He wouldn’t have felt it at the time - he had been so angry, so ready to kill Hardeen. That darkness could have easily come from him. It wouldn't have been…unusual for Anakin, as much as she didn't want to admit it.

But somehow that just didn’t seem right.

“I - I don’t know. I mean, if that _was_ Master Kenobi, then… “ What was she going to say? That she sensed something dark? That something was wrong? 

_ This entire situation is wrong!  _

“There was a - “ she gestured forward with both her hands open. “Something was _wrong_ in the Force, Masters. I can’t really describe it. But it felt dark.” 

_Obi-wan should have never - the Council should have never -_

The crown of her montrails tensed. 

Mace frowned. Plo took a long-nailed hand to his chin, still looking at Ahsoka, probably staring at her - it was hard to tell with the mask on. 

“And you’re certain it wasn’t Skywalker?” Mace asked.

Anakin rounded on the older Jedi Master. “What?!? What are you saying - “

Mace held up a hand, looking skywards. “What I’m _trying_ to say, Skywalker, is that you met the man you thought was the murderer of your former Master…” The Korun Jedi trailed off, and Ahsoka could sense Anakin steeling himself for a rebuke.

The Korun’s eyes softened.“…and…it would not be unprecedented for a Jedi, _any_ Jedi, to feel the need for revenge, to feel _anger_ in that situation. _”_

Ahsoka covered her mouth with one hand. 

It was the closest thing to an apology she had ever heard from the man. 

Anakin froze, his arm still lifted in accusation.

And then - she could have sworn...maybe... Ahsoka thought she saw Anakin make the slightest nod of his head in the direction of Mace Windu.

A small step forward - if it had actually happened.

It would have to be enough for now. 

Master Plo stepped in between the two before either had the opportunity to ruin their new-found peace by opening their mouths. “Well, that give is us something to work with, right Master Windu?”

Mace Windu grunted, eyeing Anakin as if he were some strange, unknown species from the Outer Rim. 

“Yes,” he responded, the vowel drawling, distracted. He shook his head. "Anyway," he pointed at her and Anakin, "I want you two to do a sweep of the palace grounds. Check _everyone’s_ identification - twice. If there’s something even remotely off about their Force-presence, question them.”

Ahsoka nodded. The meeting was over. She stood back, giving a slight bow to both Jedi Masters, and began to walk toward the palace grounds.

Anakin, however, did not follow.

“Why?” His voice nearly choked.

Mace frowned but couldn’t quite meet Anakin’s eyes.

“It needed to be done, Skywalker,” Mace gestured around hm. “For the Republic.”

Anakin glowered at the Jedi Master. 

“Not like this, it didn’t.” 

And at that, Anakin spun on his heels, his heavy synth-leather tabards swinging wildly with the action. He stormed away past Ahsoka, past the Republic guards, directly towards the entrance to Theed's royal house.

All Ahsoka could do was follow. 

And hope.

________

“You seem surprised, Mr. Hardeen.”

Obi-wan tightened his grip on the blaster rifle, digging his feet into the stone floor beneath him. The thick vest Rako Hardeen wore suddenly felt too hot, too constrictive, and the Jedi longed to tear the item off.

“This wasn’t in the plan.” His words were breathless, stuck halfway in his throat with his fluttering heart. Dooku just stood there, like a vision - _like a nightmare_ \- unmoving, so still that Obi-wan was beginning to doubt he was there at all.

Was the Force playing tricks on him? 

“Indeed, it wasn’t in the plan of Moralo Eval and Cad Bane." Dooku took a step forward, his cape fluttering with the movement. "It is, however, in my plan.”

Sweat trickled down Obi-wan's back. If this was vision, it was frighteningly realistic. 

“I’m guessing they don’t know about the change, then."

Dooku smiled, his long face exaggerating the wolfish nature of his expression.

“They are unaware of any...modifications to the original instructions.”It was an easy, almost casual answer, the words drawling, lingering over every syllable. The Jedi was reminded of the way Dooku had savored his wine on Serenno, had tasted each note, every nuance of flavor. 

This was no illusion. 

Obi-wan could feel his carefully erected shields begin to waver, his solid construction of defense falling prey to undulations of doubt, of fear at its very base. He tried to reach out for - for something, anything to reinforce those walls, to provide an emotional bulwark for his mind. He sought inside himself for anger, hatred, desperation - anything that might feed the engine of these _corrupted_ defenses. But each time he tried to grasp at the those thoughts, they danced away, just out of reach. Obi-wan clenched the weapon in his hands, his knuckles turning white underneath his charcoal gloves. Just when he thought this would all be over, when he thought he would be able to rid himself of this ridiculous, horrid identity, _this hell-infested planet_ -

“Why are you here?” Hardeen growled.

The Sith made no immediate response, regarding the Jedi with a certain clinical detachment, of disinterest even. But Obi-wan sensed Dooku's Force presence edging forward, smooth, but heavy. It crawled towards him, climbing his legs, pressing on his chest, before finally curling itself around his shoulders.

“I must say, Mr. Hardeen, that you impress me with your continued impudence,” Dooku chuckled, raising a hand in a superfluous motion, as if he were waving away some troublesome insects. The Sith let his eyes linger on the bounty hunter, drinking in the sight of Rako Hardeen before him. 

"Hmmm," he nodded in approval, clasping his hands behind his back. The Sith turned and walked over to the large balcony window overlooking the palace grounds. He stood at the railing, his back to Obi-wan.

The Jedi glanced down. The rifle he held seemed to quiver on its own, asking, begging to be used. Every cell in the Jedi's body began to scream at him - _kill Dooku now._ One shot could end half the war right here, one shot could free him from all of this. One blaster bolt in the upper-left quadrant of the back. Directly into the Sith's heart. That would be all it took. Obi-wan adjusted his hold on the weapon, peering through the scope. He tried to focus all of his ragged energy, lining up Dooku's back in the crosshairs of the lens. He would have a single chance to get this right.

The weapon wavered in his hands. 

_Traitor_ , a voice whispered at him. Obi-wan shook his head, lowering the rifle an inch. 

“Why - “ The Jedi licked his lips and tried to swallow.“What do want, Dooku?” 

Obi-wan could feel the Sith smiling.

"Naboo is a beautiful planet, don't you think, Mr. Hardeen?" Dooku kept his back to the Jedi as he spoke. "This time of year, it's susceptible to a certain kind of marine layer, but today..." He lifted a hand, gesturing outside. "Well, it seems the Force is with us today, Mr. Hardeen. One can see all the way to the hills, to the lake where the Gungan city lays underneath. If you look over there," he pointed directly to the east, "you can even see the Theed generator complex."

"You are most likely unaware of this," Dooku continued, seemingly unaware of the sudden chill in the room, "but a terrible travesty of justice took place in that very spot. One that the Jedi should have seen coming." The Sith sighed. "An event that changed the course of many things." 

Dark adrenaline coursed through the Jedi's body, his heart pounding in his ears. He raised the weapon once again, this time determined to finish what he had intended to do. One inch to the right. There it was. The exact spot he would have to hit to kill Dooku.

“Know that if you pull that trigger, Mr. Hardeen,” Dooku finally turned to face the Concordian, his hand on the hilt of his lightsaber, “your head will be separated from your shoulders long before that bolt leaves your primitive weapon.”

_BASTARD!_ his mind screamed and his own Force presence was punctured by the tiny shards of a million broken crystals of contained emotion. Red dripped from the incisions, pooling at the foundations of his shields, pushing against the last remnants of his control. The Jedi's head pounded in synchrony with his heart.

He was right, of course the _kriffing_ bastard was right. Without his own lightsaber, without the ability to use the Force openly - Obi-wan had no chance. Not while he was clinging to the tattered remains of his disguise as Rako Hardeen. 

_Not while I'm still doing the Council's bidding_ , he thought darkly.

Obi-wan allowed the weapon in his arms to drop, barrel pointing towards the floor.

"I'm going to ask you again - why are you here?" 

The Count moved away from the window, coming a few steps closer to the bounty hunter. Dooku's silvery, volatile presence was all around him in the Force, enveloping him, practically swallowing him whole. 

“War is complicated, Mr. Hardeen, and not everything is as it seems.”

Wasn't that one of Plo’s favorite phrases? Obi-wan let out a small, strained laugh. How utterly _delightful_ of Dooku to invoke Jedi philosophy at a time like this.

“Is there something that amuses you?” 

Obi-wan sneered. “We've already been through this, Count. I don't care about your war.” 

The Sith’s eyes flared, specks of yellow clouding Dooku's natural brown hue.

Mercury couldn't freeze, Obi-wan knew from his education at the Temple. Not unless it was met with extreme cold, cold that most sentient species couldn't survive in. And yet somehow, he stood rooted in place, that terrible Force presence now solid, crushing his very body, demanding his attention. The Jedi forced himself to meet Dooku’s gaze.

_ /You would care very much if you were aware of the true identity of the Sith lord you seek./ _

Obi-wan gasped as Dooku released his invisible hold. 

“You should care about the war, Mr. Hardeen," the Sith continued, as if nothing had happened, "because it is _everything_.” Amber was still bleeding into the Sith’s irises, a terrible, beautiful kaleidoscope of color. The image grew closer as Dooku advanced on the bounty hunter, and Obi-wan could now pick out every individual pigment of that corrupted visage, so near was Dooku to him. The Jedi held his rifle horizontal against his body, a last-ditch effort at creating some kind of barrier between the two men, between Dooku's darkness and his own - 

The Jedi shook his head, stifling a strangled yell of frustration. He  stared at the floor as he shuffled backwards. Obi-wan did not want to look into those eyes again, did not want to hear that voice in his head that couldn’t have possibly been real. The Force was ferocious, lapping at his now-meager defenses. It was apparent to the Jedi that Dooku had merely been toying with him before, that the Sith was only now bearing down on him with his full, unbridled power.

Obi-wan’s back met the wall. There was nowhere to go. 

Dooku stepped forward, his face mere inches from the Jedi's. “Rako Hardeen, you are a man many talents,” he said, “and I believe there is far more to you than meets the eye.” 

The Sith leaned back, his expression softening into one of wry humor.

“I would like to hire you, Mr. Hardeen.”

The Jedi gripped the rifle across his body with such ferocity that he thought he might rip it half.

“You’ve already hired me,” he breathed.

The older man raised a single eyebrow.

 “I’ve hired you for one job, Mr. Hardeen,” Dooku gestured airily out the balcony window, “the details of which you have on that datapad inside your vest.”

“And this other job?”

“Let us say that this plan requires someone with your...unique skill set.”

Obi-wan snorted. “My schedule’s a little full right now, so I think I'm going to have to pass.”

The Count turned, quicker than Obi-wan could register, shoving the Concordian into the wall behind him. Obi-wan’s back smashed into the hard surface, knocking the breath out of him.

“You might find, Mr. Hardeen,” Dooku's voice was low, dangerous, “that refusal is an option unavailable to you.” 

Dooku had him pinned by his shoulders. The stone was cold and hard, and pain seared through Obi-wan as the Sith pressed dangerously into his shoulder, his face twisting in pleasure. The Jedi writhed under the man’s solid grip. 

“Certain factions I am aligned with have a vested interest in the young Jedi Anakin Skywalker. I take it you are familiar with him? His smug face has been smeared all of the Holonet as of late.”

_Anakin!_ Obi-wan jerked involuntarily, pushing against the Sith’s unyielding grip, his panic at the mention of his former Padawan overriding his self-preservation instinct. Dooku only pressed further in response, bearing down on the weary bounty hunter. Obi-wan hissed at the unnatural crackling in his shoulder. 

“This party, shall we say, would like to possess Skywalker and feel that this would be an opportune moment to make their move.” Obi-wan could barely breathe now, his nerves were on fire. Dooku's mouth was inches from his ear, his breath hot on the Jedi's cheek. “Good help is so hard to find these days, Mr. Hardeen. Your success in killing the Jedi Obi-wan Kenobi and evading capture has not gone unnoticed. You are the logical choice for an endeavor such as this.”

_ There is no peace peace is a lie anger darkness rage revenge AGONY - _

Nothing. 

Obi-wan crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap. He cradled his left shoulder, which throbbed in tandem with his pulse. It was only after he had rolled to a seated position, leaning against the wall, that he realized that his left arm beneath the elbow was completely numb.

The overwhelming presence in the Force had all but disappeared. Dooku was no longer in front of him. The Count had crossed the room, wiping his hands on a handkerchief as he surveyed the fallen man.

And so it had come to this **.** The Council’s plans, their deceptions - they had earned him the title of Jedi-killer, had _endeared_ him to Dooku. He almost laughed. Isn't this what Mace wanted? It had been so easy for them to sit in that Council room, to make plans, order Obi-wan to sacrifice everything for the Republic, for the Code. And he had succeeded! _Look at me now! Confidante to Count Dooku, Sith and leader of the Confederate insurgency. I've played my part as this Rako Hardeen, better than you ever could have imagined. I have information, Mace - just like you wanted._

He had information...

Obi-wan's feverish hysteria cooled. Someone...someone wanted Anakin. Someone that Dooku would consider an...affiliate. 

But Dooku worked alone, surrounded by unthinking droids and that monster Grievous. Certainly _they_ had no need for his former Padawan.  And this party wanted to - in Dooku's words - "possess" Anakin, not kill him, not even hold him hostage, it seemed.  It certainly wasn’t Dooku himself - the man despised Anakin and would sooner see his friend dead than in captivity or...

A wave of pain traveled up the Jedi's arm, and Obi-wan hissed, glaring at the Sith across the room.  _Why the hell would someone Dooku works with want with Anakin? Who does Dooku even work with? He's a Sith! They don't work with others, except their own -_

Obi-wan threw his head back, staring at Dooku in abject horror.

_…the highest midichlorian count in an age…_

He wouldn't. Never. Impossible. It would negate everything Obi-wan had worked for, every sacrifice he had made since Qui-gon had been...

Dooku merely raised his eyebrows, a hint of a smirk on his face. 

Obi-wan pushed himself to stand, clenching his teeth, refusing to show the extent of his injuries to the Sith. He staggered towards the man, ignoring how the room seemed to tilt, back and forth, like a youngling's plaything. 

"Tell me about this plan," he rasped.

Dooku nodded, his expression one of understated triumph. He reached into his pocket and produced a small hologram projector in his palm. The Sith pressed a button and a blue-tinged map of the Naboo palace floated between the two men.

The Sith pointed to a tower. “We are here, Mr. Hardeen. As you know, the Chancellor’s speech will take place on this rotunda in a matter of a few hours. You have been placed here as a sniper, as you well know.” The Count deactivated the transmitter.

“What you don’t know are the other parts of this plan. I will divulge these to you as a gesture of goodwill, a kind of…downpayment for your services.” Dooku paused, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement from the Jedi. Obi-wan didn't respond, but his icy silence was enough of an affirmation for the man to continue. "Once the speech begins, Derrown will deactivate the the plasma shield that we know will be protecting Palpatine and his cohort. This will cause a minor explosion and ferment a fair amount of chaos.”

“The Jedi will go after the attackers, but,” Dooku gestured at him, “we are employing a very apt sniper who will be able to incapacitate at least one of them.”

“In the chaos, Embo and Twazzi, who are now ensconced as the Chancellor’s personal guards, will swap identities with Palpatine. Cad Bane, who will be disguised as a Neimoidian, will escort the Chancellor to the safety of a speeder, which incidentally, will be driven by Moralo Eval. They will meet at a rendezvous point on the far edge of the eastern forest, a point that is known only to Eval, Bane, myself - “ Dooku quickly typed something into his transmitter, “ - and now you.”

“What about the others?” asked Obi-wan.

Dooku smiled. “Most likely they will be captured, perhaps even killed in the proceedings.”

Hardeen let out a brittle laugh, flexing the fingers of his left hand. Still numb. “Expendable.”

The Sith shrugged. “As I said, Mr. Hardeen, this is but one layer of the conflict. The others will have served their purpose.”

“And the Jedi Skywalker?” 

Dooku switched the hologram off. “What is your price, Mr. Hardeen? I am willing to pay handsomely for your services. But you are not like the others, and I will not insult your intelligence to offer you what most would ask for.”

A shadow passed over the Jedi's face. Pain seared through Obi-wan's shoulder, only serving to feed his rising ire. The Jedi’s shields were strengthening, and Obi-wan didn’t even notice how his emotions fed his adrenaline, overriding the pain and injury he had just endured. 

“ _My price_?” the Concordian erupted. Static electricity danced at his fingertips - _finally_ , he could feel again. “What I want, Dooku, is the _kriffing_ truth."

" _Tsk, tsk._ Patience, Mr. Hardeen," Dooku chided.

Obi-wan only growled in response.

The Sith took a hand to his chin, obviously feigning thought. " Should I take this to mean that your price is information, Mr. Hardeen? Very astute, my friend. What  would you like to know?"

“Who is your affiliate?" Obi-wan immediately spat. 

Dooku placed his hands on his hips, his right hand near the hilt of his lightsaber. "Who indeed, Mr. Hardeen?" Amusement still flickered in the Force, and the Sith chuckled. But there was something else underneath all of that, something Obi-wan would have almost called fear...

“And so we have arrived at the negotiation point." The statement was a notch too loud, too tense for Obi-wan to pass off as incidental. _Who was this other Sith?_

"Finish this job, Hardeen, and I will give you what you ask - this precious knowledge -  as payment. And perhaps, if you wish for more..." the Sith shrugged. "I am need of a sentient in my employ, one who has no allegiances to politics, who harbors no mawkish sentiment for the past, one who is as ruthless and calculating as you.”

Obi-wan scowled. Flattery. Lies. Deception. It was everywhere. No one could be trusted. 

But…Anakin’s very soul might be at risk, if Dooku were to be believed. And if...if he could learn the true identity of the Sith lord, if he could cut through the skein of darkness and deception that covered all of Coruscant and the Jedi Order…

It wasn’t as if Dooku was giving him a choice in the matter anyway, right?

As long as Obi-wan could remain in the skin of the Concoridan criminal, as long as he remained Rako Hardeen - well, it would merely be an extension of his mission now. Besides, the Council had floated the idea of infiltrating Dooku’s inner circle before, by means more treacherous than this. The memory was vivid, the contentious Council meeting where it had been suggested that someone (Obi-wan had a strong idea who and it had rankled him that they would use his friend, his créchemate in this manner) - that someone approach Dooku and allow themselves to be courted to the dark side, to pretend to want to turn. He had been appalled by the entire plan.

But now...he wasn't turning, and besides he wasn't even technically a Jedi at the moment. No lightsaber, limited ability to use the Force openly - he could end this. The war could be over. Anakin would be safe, could leave the Order if he chose, could live a normal life with...well, he knew who. Ahsoka could see the Jedi as they were meant to be - not some war machine, but a body of peace, of diplomacy. Obi-wan could almost see her right there, twenty years in the future, with her own Padawan - proud, smiling. _So unlike Qui-gon_ , he thought acerbically.

And Obi-wan himself...the Jedi tried to look into the Force, to get a sense of his own possible future... 

All he found was darkness. 

No. This was just another deception, just an extension of his mission now. It was n othing momentous. Nothing would change. 

He willed himself to meet Dooku’s eyes, willed himself to ignore the distant warning in the Force.

"You'll tell me  _everything?_ " Obi-wan asked. "The truth?"

"More than you even wanted to know, Mr. Hardeen."

Obi-wan looked up at the high ceiling of the room, then outside. The sun was beginning to set in Theed, and the Jedi could just make out the multiple voices of Jango Fett issuing orders in the distance. 

_ Please don't let Anakin find out. Please let him understand. _

He took a deep breath. 

_ Please let him be safe. _

Obi-wan set his jaw, squaring himself to the taller man.

“Fine. I accept your offer.”

Dooku placed a strong hand on his uninjured shoulder. 

“Excellent, Mr. Hardeen. I assure you this is a decision you will not regret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OBI-WAN, NO!!!!!! (yaaaasssssssss)
> 
> Chapter 14 preview: Dooku gets an unexpected phone call, Rex drops in for some pov, and Obi-wan makes some more poor life decisions


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray - here we are! This will be the last chapter of this story that sticks relatively close to canon (although you'll see some pretty obvious differences). I think I have about 2-3 chapters after this one to round things out and we'll be finished with this particular (admittedly somewhat convoluted) tale. I feel like the path I take with this might be a little divisive, but in my defense I will say two things. One, that there will be a third story after this one where the action will ramp up a good deal. And two, Dooku's words in the previous chapter were *very very* carefully chosen and that he's thinking *faaaaar* more long-term than the kidnapping situation. :o 
> 
> I also had a lot of fun writing Rex's pov in here, I'm so glad he kind of stepped in and demanded to be put in the story.
> 
> This one was a fun one, you guys. :D 
> 
> (*rubs hands together in anticipatory glee*)

Many years ago, he had been on a mission on the planet Devros. The Devronian people were a highly developed, highly civilized society - ones who placed a premium on culture and the arts. The citizens of Devros were renowned in particular for their visual art, for their paintings - not the crude holo-works and replicas that adorned the walls of the Senate building on Coruscant, but real, physical compositions that required a deft hand and careful planning.

The job had been simple - serve on a temporary security detail of a young prince who had been threatened with assassination during a turbulent period of Devronian politics. Predictable - almost mundane, really. And it would have been the most tedious of missions if not for the fact that the young monarch had commissioned a self-portrait that very week. Every day he had watched as the disheveled artist dragged himself and his materials to the sitting rooms. Once there, he would methodically set up his paints, his graphites, and his easel. And then it would begin - always first with the positioning of the subject, the lighting - finding a compromise between the young ruler’s demands and the artist’s vision. And then there were sketches, outlines, the difficult choice of color palette. But bit by bit, the work had begun to reveal itself, until what had been something ambiguous and vague took on definitive shape. Soon after, the background was enhanced, and simple geometric shapes became limbs, postures, even expressions. But what had struck the young Jedi the most was the illusion of depth, that one could actually walk up to the painting and expect the subject to respond if greeted. It was a wonderful deception of hand that only the most talented artists were able to accomplish. The prince - the cretin he was - certainly hadn't deserved such a fantastic object. _He_ had shown as much depth as a puddle in the Geonosian desert. 

Still, Dooku had been enthralled by the process, if not the subject matter. For the first time of his apprenticeship, he truly  _understood_ how patience, how careful planning could reap long-term benefits and advantages. But the seeds needed to be planted, cultivated in just the right way. One could not jump from sketches directly to the final product. Otherwise the outcome would be...inadequate.

Now, though -  _his_ work was nearly complete. It was only missing that intangible depth - some singular event that Dooku was certain would push the man next to him completely over to his side.

If he could only manufacture such a thing. 

He was taking a great risk, he knew.His actions now - Dooku flexed his hand. Sidious _had_ ordered him to Naboo to enact the kidnapping plot personally, a rare directive from his Master, who had generally preferred the Count to remain distant from most CIS matters unless it involved the Jedi. Or at least a handful of very particular Jedi. Dooku grimaced. He had faced young Skywalker more times than he could count on two hands in the past few years, and the Count was certain that was not by accident. No, there was always another layer to Sidious’s plots, and Dooku needed to act before a particular layer - one which would see his head firmly detached from his body - was unsurfaced. For now, though, he needed to ensure that his own plans could move forward. And so, he had opted to divulge the truth, or at least a portion of it, to the young man who quivered in anticipation next to him. 

Yan Dooku had to be very careful. He could not lie to Kenobi. Lies would destroy everything he had been working towards. Nor did Dooku have any desire to mislead the young man. After all, there was little need for prevarication when the reality before them was damning enough on its own.

Kenobi was _fresh_ , raw with emotion. He did not know who to trust, and while Dooku would eventually be that guiding hand, the time was not yet right. The young man was only beginning to realize the hypocrisy of the Jedi, only starting to appreciate the _truth_ in the dark side. If Dooku lied they would never bridge that gap, never overcome that idealogical chasm that was incrementally beginning to close between the two men.

And he couldn't contend with his Master alone. 

Dooku's eyes hardened. _Sidious_ , he thought with disgust. 

Soon would come the day when he would no longer be forced to bow to the man, when he would no longer play the part of a pawn in the Sith’s lust for galactic power, when his head would no longer be on the proverbial chopping block, awaiting the conversion of that brat Skywalker.

No, Dooku would not allow _that_ to happen. 

But to make his move now - 

He needed absolute surety of Kenobi’s allegiance. This was only the first step, this facade of Rako Hardeen, this agreement of Kenobi's. It boded well for the future, but one premature move, one slipped word and Dooku would be a dead man by Sidious’s hand multiple times over.  And then Kenobi would inevitably belong to _him._

Just the thought of the young man -  _his lineage_ - being in servitude to that corrupt, vile being…

Dooku’s skin prickled with electricity.

No. That would not do at all. 

Dooku redirected his attention out the window. The small audience of officials and ambassadors had finished assembling on the rotunda, awaiting the entrance of Chancellor Palpatine. 

The Sith scoffed inwardly. _What fools._ Bleating on and on about democracy, celebrating Naboo’s act of joining the Republic so many years ago, praising the supposed alliance of the diverse cultures that inhabited the planet.

It all reeked of hypocrisy, the same self-deceit that had infected the Jedi Order. T o fête this all now, with a small cadre of elite, with leaders who were dictators in all but name and still pretend it to be a democratic society -

Better to wipe them all out.

The crowd grew silent, their mindless tittering finally ceasing. Almost as one, they rose as the procession of the Republic dignitaries began. Soon, _he_ would walk through the large double-doors -

Yan Dooku felt his very sinews tauten.

This… _abomination_ held control of the Republic Senate. The banks. The trade federation. It had been brilliantly planned, expertly executed - in no small part due to Dooku’s own machinations and his rise as the face of the CIS. 

These simple-minded fools would cheer and clap, lapping at the feet of the man who would eventually enslave them to his whims, to his unrelenting search for power, for control…

For immortality.

Death had never frightened Yan Dooku. Perhaps it was his Jedi training, but he long ago had accepted the inevitable as part of the balance of the Force.

But to die in servitude, with so much undone, with such taint upon the galaxy, on the Jedi - 

The elder man chanced a short glance to the figure at his left. 

To die without leaving a legacy - now that was something he could not stomach. 

“Be ready, Hardeen. The first part of our plan will soon come to action.”

The bounty hunter shifted, only grunting in response. Dooku hid a grin. He could practically see Kenobi swallowing a series of undoubtably glib responses. It was a pleasant change to have the man at his side, relatively docile, and ready to receive orders. 

What a Padawan Obi-wan Kenobi must have been. 

Palpatine began his speech. Dooku allowed the words to run together, to flow past his senses and into the Force. Derrown was just visible in the northeast corner of the rotunda entrance, the electric field surrounding his body flickering in the distance. The Count idly wondered what would have happened had Kenobi  _not_ been in the Box tournament. The Parwan himself had seemed ignorant of his own physical capabilities.

Of course, it wasn't exactly common knowledge, now was it?

Years ago, he and Qui-gon had been sent to Cato Neimoidia. The Cold War was in its waning years, but certain factions had sought to destabilize the purse planet of the wealthy central Neimoidia, hoping to gain influence over the powerful Trade Federation. They were there as peacekeepers, of course - _glorified bodyguards_ \- during an important summit between rival factions in the mid-rim. It had been during a speech somewhat similar to this one that they had witnessed a Parwan actually pass through a ray shield in a half-hearted attempt to disturb the proceedings.

At the time such a thing was unprecedented.Little was known about the Parwan species, whose planet had only recently been rediscovered on the Outer Rim, years after the Sith Empire had conquered the region. The rogue opposition member had been quickly dispatched with, and the rest of the mission was concluded without further incident. The discovery of the Parwan’s capabilities, however, had made for an interesting assignment for his Padawan.  It was little surprise that Kenobi was fully schooled on the different blood types of the Parwan species and its interaction with ray shields. After all, the assignment had certainly made an impression on Qui-gon.

The Sith allowed himself a small smile, a fleeting moment of sentiment that quickly turned to fire as he stared out of the balcony window towards the generator complex.

Cheers rang from below and fireworks illuminated the night sky of Naboo as the Chancellor finally finished his insipid speech, a tapestry of color, light, and sound melding with the applause and polite roar of the attendees in the rotunda. 

Dooku sensed the young man next to him stiffen. Derrown was slinking closer and closer to the ray shield’s minor generator. The Republic guards, the Jedi below had no idea what was about to transpire.

The Sith turned to Hardeen. “When the shield comes down, fire at random into the rotunda. Incapacitate the Jedi if you must. If the bounty hunters become troublesome, you may feel free to eliminate them." 

Hardeen turned to him with wide eyes, his jaw set firmly. “The Jedi - ”

“We are sowing chaos, my friend, not initiating a full-fledged massacre,” Dooku interrupted. “Too many bodies would be an unnecessary mess, and my aim in this case - beyond the abduction of the Chancellor - is to lay bare the inadequacies of the Republic and the Jedi.” 

The young man continued to glower, but wisely said nothing further. 

“I trust you are capable of this, Mr. Hardeen? After all, it would be a shame for you to fail and not receive payment. You seem rather..." Dooku leaned in so his mouth was directly next to the Jedi's ear "...insistent on procuring your information." 

Hardeen gripped the weapon, his knuckles white, his fingers almost glued to the body. Dooku straightened, adjusting his cloak as he did so.

Oh no, Kenobi did not like that at all. A wave of satisfaction passed through the Sith.

Dooku set his attention back to the rotunda. The fireworks were about to finish, and the time had finally come. 

There was a flash and then a large explosion. Black smoke plumed upwards and shouts of distress filled the night air in a panicked cacophony. Palpatine was thrown to the ground, seemingly unconscious as the bounty hunters commenced their assault.

Blaster shots rang out from the tower as Derrown engaged the two Jedi, Skywalker and Windu. Hardeen spasmed as a series of his own projectiles flew within a hair’s breath of Skywalker’s head when the young brat flipped unnecessarily, his lightsaber still illuminated, to block the oncoming fire.

Amazing the young fool was able to keep all his remaining limbs with such asinine movements.

Skywalker was whirling around like a wild animal, now fighting with Derrown alone. Dooku felt Kenobi’s shielding falter, his iron-clad control slip.

The Sith's own ire rose in tandem. “Mr. Hardeen...we need..." The Count grit his teeth. "We need  _that one_ alive…” he growled, remembering his Master's orders.  _For now, at least._

There was a flash of electricity and Skywalker dropped to the earth. Apparently Kenobi either hadn't passed along the information about Parwans to his young charge, or more likely, Skywalker hadn't listened. 

The young fool was unfortunately not dead, but Kenobi was  _irate._ A  hot-white wave of anger emanated from the man, its crests pointed in glass. 

"Deal with the Parwan. We have no further use for him," Dooku ordered quietly.

It was over in less than a second. Derrown crashed towards the earth, his jetpack still sputtering from the single blaster bolt.

The Sith raised his eyebrows in approval. What a  _talent_  this grandpadawan of his was. 

Dooku turned to face the disguised Jedi. Hatred, guilt burned a deep, black coal in Kenobi's pupils.

“Meet Eval at the rendezvous point. You will know what to do there.” The Sith pointed at the comm device lying on top of the rifle case. “I will be in contact with further instructions.”

Hardeen’s eyebrows furrowed, the spell of his rage fading to confusion. “Where are you going?”

It was a faint buzzing, one that he sensed more than actually heard or felt. But there was only one person who could access that particular communications line, one person who would have the gall to contact him at a time like this.

And it was not a request Dooku was in any position to refuse.

The Force deepened in crimson around the Sith. 

“I have other matters to attend to.”

Dooku swept out of the tower with a final _swoosh_ of his cape.

 

* * *

 

The ray shield activated, encompassing the rotunda in a shimmering transparency.

The Chancellor began his speech - something about pride and unification…

Rex didn’t pay it much mind. In fact, he rarely paid too much attention to what the Chancellor said in his speeches. Rex wasn’t a politician, and the man’s words…well, they weren’t meant for clones. 

Besides, it all began to sound the same after a while.

Rex scanned the crowd from his position. He was stationed on the outside border of the plasma shield, on one of several floating docks with a gaggle of government officials. The clone leader was alert, having been informed of a possible attack by Count Dooku and a band of associates. Some attempt to kidnap the Chancellor, if the rumors were true.

"All clear in Sector 7," he reported into his helmet communications device, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. 

A woman in a dress that could only be described as an ugly three-layer cake turned and gave him a particularly nasty look. Rex rolled his eyes, thankful for his helmet. It was gearing up to be a long evening. _Kriff_ , it had already been a long day.

They had checked - had triple-checked the identities of everyone who had come within a hundred _kliks_ of the palace. Had set up a security line that would have rivaled ones in battle at Salucemai or Christophsis. 

If only they could expend these types of resources for all the civilians -

Rex shook his head, admonishing himself. Good soldiers followed orders, and the the orders of the clones were to protect the Republic and its leaders at any cost.

He took out a pair of electrobinoculars. Straight ahead was Commander Tano, guarding Senator Amidala, the Naboo queen, and her entourage. They clapped politely at something the Chancellor said, the Senator leaning over to Ahsoka to whisper in her ear, which elicited a smile from the young Jedi.

General Windu stood to the far left, behind a group of Neimoidians. Rex didn’t trust the lot of them, those turncoats. The majority of their people had thrown themselves behind Dooku, behind the CIS. Why the Chancellor had invited these particular representatives, Rex couldn’t even begin to figure out. Maybe there was some kind of secret deal going on between them and the Republic. General Windu would keep them in line, though, Rex was sure of that. 

He swung around to the opposite direction. There was General Skywalker, his arms crossed over his chest. Rex was worried about the general, he hadn’t been the same since -

Since _it_ had happened. 

Truth be told, none of them had been quite right after the news of General Kenobi’s death had reached them. 

_Rumors of his death_ , Rex reminded himself. 

No  _vod_ knew exactly what had happened that night in Coruscant. The 501st had been grounded for a few weeks following the Zygerrian mission, and most of the clones had taken the opportunity to unwind on the lower levels, indulging themselves at 79s or some equally seedy cantina. Rex had mostly stayed in the barracks in the Imperial City for the duration of the furlough. He spent his evenings sharing a quiet flask or two of homemade _tihaar_  with Cody and a few of the other men over cards or a few spirited rounds of  _dejarik._

Rex had been on his fourth glass when the news had hit the Holonet. 

_“Shooting in Industrial Sector 43b. One dead. No arrests have been made. Authorities do not believe there to be Separatist involvement.”_

It was an unfortunate fact that there was violence every day in the Coruscant lower levels. Rex had assumed that this newest incident was an internal affair with some crime organization or another - it was becoming more and more common these days. In any case, he hadn't given it any further thought. Not, at least, until a _vod_ had come back late that night from the bar, stumbling, muttering something about a Jedi funeral. 

The surveillance footage had surfaced only a few hours later. 

It was grainy, unclear, and had obviously been tampered with. A man in what could have been Jedi robes was shot, falling from the top of a building, crashing onto a pile of boxes before hitting the ground. Rex had closed his eyes at the image - he had seen one too many of his brothers die in a similar fashion at the hands of the Seppie droids. But a Jedi? It seemed impossible.

Still, Rex had wanted to contact General Skywalker to get more information, but both his comm and Commander Tano’s had been put on restricted access. Clones weren’t exactly welcome as surprise visitors to the Jedi Temple, so there had been nothing left to do but speculate. A mysterious death in the Coruscant lower levels, General Skywalker and Commander Tano suddenly unavailable, and both the 501st and 212th grounded. 

It was only a few days later, when both the General and Commander Tano had returned from a not-so-secret mission to Nal Hutta, that finally, _finally_ Rex had been able to intercept the General.

“General Skywalker,” he had greeted on the landing pad, standing at attention. 

The young Jedi had only growled Rex’s name under his breath in response, adding the words, “I can’t believe it.”

“Rex, he’s - I think - I can’t - “

The General smashed a fist into the side of the ship.

“ _HOW COULD HE?”_

Skywalker had stalked off in the direction of 500 Republica, leaving a dent in the side of the _Twilight_ and a very confused Rex behind.

“Rex, it’s okay. He didn’t - “ Ahsoka had quietly come down the ramp of the ship, obviously having seen everything. 

“Commander - what happened?” Rex knew his General could be angry, more angry than your usual Jedi. But this was something different, this ran deep, like the betrayal of a fellow _vod_ -

Rex took a step back, a half-formed, horrible thought suddenly overwhelming him. 

“Where’s General Kenobi?” he asked. 

Ahsoka turned to him, her eyes wide. “I don’t - I. Rex, I don’t know what’s going on anymore.” 

Rex wanted to ask more, wanted to know if that mysterious death, the grainy footage, the Jedi funeral - if they were in any way connected to the General’s disappearance. But one look at the Commander and he lost all heart to ask.

“I need to find Anakin before he - “ she shook her head and ran off towards the Senate building. 

Rex started as he felt a pair of eyes watching him, instinct honed from countless hours on the battlefield. 

General Skywalker was looking directly at him, almost through his helmet.

_Damn Jedi tricks_ , he grumbled. Stuff like that was still eerie, the way they could almost read thoughts...

The clone gave an “all clear” signal across the rotunda, forcing himself back to the reality at hand. Whatever had happened to General Kenobi, mulling over it right now was not going to help him or anyone else on this mission.

The Chancellor raised his hands to signal the end of his speech, and on cue, fireworks erupted from outside the plasma sphere, illuminating the night sky in a rainbow of color. The crowd politely clapped at the spectacle, which was more for the citizens of Naboo who were at home, watching on the Holonet, than the bored government officials.

Still, Rex always enjoyed a nice explosion and allowed himself a quick glance upwards when something caught the corner of his eye.

A single tentacle slowly reaching through the semi-transparent barrier.

“General Skywalker!” he yelled into his comm, “The shield generator! They’re going to penetrate the shield!” The clone lifted his blaster as the General ran shouting, his lightsaber illuminated. 

He was too late. There was a crackling of electricity, a half-second of heavy silence before the generator exploded and the shield disintegrated before their eyes. The rotunda shook with the detonation, throwing the Chancellor to the ground, rocking the Senators and other dignitaries in their seats. 

“Come on! This way!” he heard Ahsoka yell over the crowd, as she escorted the Naboo royalty to safety.

It was chaos - civilians running every which way, blaster fire rocketing in through a haze of debris and ash, his fellow  _vods_ scrambling to find their target.

Rex scanned the area for the enemy, for the battalion of battle droids that must have been shooting at them from some concealed position. But there was nothing. All he could see through the heavy smoke were some of his fellow clones and a single Parwan bounty hunter fighting with the General. Skywalker charged towards his enemy, but i n one quick motion, the Parwan wrapped its long tentacles around Skywalker’s face, and the Jedi immediately convulsed under a barrage of electric charge, dropping his lightsaber and falling to the ground in a heap. 

_Osik!_  Rex didn’t know they could do that.

“The General’s down!” he yelled into his comm. The clone raised his blaster, taking aim at the Parwan, who was floating in the direction of the large double doors that accessed the main palace. 

_Almost there -_

Just as he was about to fire, a blaster bolt flew by his head. A second later, the Parwan fell from the sky, his jet pack leaving a trail of smoke, his body crashing off the cliff face of the palace towards the water.

Rex straightened, pointing at the nearest soldier. “Where’s the Chancellor?”

There was no answer but one wasn’t needed, as Rex saw General Windu leap over fallen bodies, leap over _the entire kriffing rontunda_ to land on one bent knee atop the hood of a speeder, his violet lightsaber ignited.

_“Captain, there’s a speeder taking off from the other side!”_ came the voice of a shiny over his comm.

“Not now, _vod!_ ” he growled in response as he secured his grappling hook to the railing of the floating platform. Rex let go, allowing gravity to bring him downwards, the friction of the belay device slowing his descent as he neared the rotunda. 

Rex let go about three feet above the edge, hitting the ground running, pulling his blasters from his  _kama_. He aimed his weapons at the two men in the front seat, directly across from General Windu, who bore down on the Chancellor’s personal guard with a fury that Rex didn’t know the Jedi was capable of.

“Where do you think you’re taking the Chancellor, solider?” the Korun man demanded, bringing his lightsaber tip dangerously close to the clone’s neck.

Rex flinched. This was a clone, not some enemy. “General, this is one of - “

“Captain, I am fully aware of what this man _seems_ to be,” replied the Jedi Master, his stare not flinching from the helmeted guard. “What I would like to know, however, is why he was taking the Chancellor to an undocumented speeder. That was not part of of emergency plan, soldier, and I would like to know why.”

The clone didn’t answer and only then did Rex notice that there was something off about the way this  _vod_ sat. Rex was one with his brothers - made from the same man, he had the same genes, the same blood as his thousands of brethren. 

_This isn’t one of ours._

The thought struck him half a second too late as the not-clone threw a leg at General Windu, who leaped upwards to avoid being swept off the speeder and off the platform itself. The small opening was all the man needed, as he jumped from the speeder, sticking a small cylindrical device onto the vehicle on his way out.

“Explosive!” someone yelled, and for the second time that night, the Naboo palace was rocked by a series of detonations as the speeder erupted in a terrible fireball. 

Rex was thrown back, landing with a violent crash on the marble platform. He looked side to side, his ears ringing with the explosion, unable to completely process what was going on around him. The air was on fire, and he registered the too-familiar scent of molten electronics mingled with burning flesh. Something stirred in his hand and he realized that he had grabbed the Chancellor’s robe at the last second. The Republic leader had been catapulted back with him in the tumult.

The clone attempted to right himself, even as the world was tilted unpleasantly around him. 

“Chan - Chancellor, are you alright?”

Palpatine’s face swam in his vision,

“Chancellor?” he tried again.

The elder man smiled, rearing back his arm. 

A powerful fist connected with Rex’s jaw, sending him sprawling back to the ground.

_What the kriff -_

Something fluttered unnaturally over the Chancellor, and for a brief moment Rex saw a _different_ body in place of the Republic leader's. 

“It’s not the Chancellor! It’s an impostor! A bounty hunter!” he shouted into his comm.

The not-Chancellor turned at the sound of the clone’s voice, pulling a blaster from his voluminous crimson robes. 

_Definitely not the Chancellor_ , Rex thought to himself in a panic as he pushed himself back, trying to keep space between himself and the dangerous apparition in front of him. He grasped for his backup mini-blaster, tucked into his shin guard.

“Sorry Chancellor, but you’re not getting my vote today.” Rex found the handle of his weapon and in one swift movement aimed it at the man’s chest. 

He pulled the trigger. The eyes of the Chancellor went wide, and the man stopped mid-step, hovering for a second before collapsing on the ground. What was once Palpatine disintegrated into thin air, leaving the unconscious body of what was surely another bounty hunter. 

“Rex! Rex! Where are you?”

“Over here, General,” he called back. 

General Skywalker came rushing over. “Are you okay?”

Rex rubbed his eyes. He had the mother of all headaches and his ears were still ringing from being so close to the detonation. Still, it could have been far worse. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. But look over there,” he pointed in the direction of the prone man. “That _was_ the Chancellor.”

“I know, Rex. I mean, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I know that’s not Chancellor Palpatine.”

Rex’s stomach clenched. Where _was_ the Republic leader? Had they failed in their objective?

“It’s okay, Rex,” the Jedi responded, most likely having felt the clone’s worry. “The Chancellor is right over there.” Anakin pointed towards the large double doors.

And there was Chancellor Palpatine, speaking with General Windu, whose face seemed to be etched in stone. Somehow, the Jedi did not look at all relieved that they had managed to win the day. 

“Come on, let’s get you up.” The General put an arm around Rex’s waist, hauling the clone up to a semi-standing position. 

“Thanks, General.” They began to walk slowly towards General Windu and the Chancellor. 

“General - what happened here? Did we have any intel that this was going to happen?” Rex asked, not able to contain his curiosity over what had been a very close call.

Skywalker tightened his grip on Rex’s body as they limped forward. “We were _supposed_ to have some intelligence but _someone_ seems to have gone missing,” the Jedi muttered. “ _Again._ ”

Rex didn’t press the point. It was obvious there had been a massive failure along the way, some missing link that had allowed things to get to this point, to where they had almost allowed - what, two or three bounty hunters? - to kidnap the Chancellor of the Republic under heavy guard. 

In public. At a political event of some importance. 

Rex shook his head. No, this didn’t look good _at all,_ and judging from the General’s reaction, there was going to be hell to pay once that _someone_ surfaced.

If they ever did.

 

* * *

 

_I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry._

Obi-wan held his breath, trying to stem the hummingbird rhythm of his heart. 

Oh sweet Force, what had he done?

Dooku was long gone - Obi-wan didn’t even know to where. It didn't matter.

Mace…Ana -

His chest constricted.

Anakin. 

_Oh gods, Anakin._

Trickles of heat began to melt his frozen panic. 

Dooku had been behind him, almost breathing down his neck, and then the shield had come down and his  _anger_ and everything had gone red -

A second explosion rocked the rotunda, shaking the Jedi out of his reverie. 

The Chancellor. Eval. 

Mace and Anakin didn’t know anything. He needed to act quickly.  He still had a chance to make things right.

Obi-wan rushed out of the tower, bounding down the steps two by two, not even bothering to activate his holographic disguise. He reached the entrance, the cool night breeze on his face as he spotted an unmanned speeder on the far edge of the grounds. 

“Hey! You! It’s Hardeen!” called a clone guard. 

Obi-wan tapped into the Force, using it to propel himself forward with nearly inhuman speed. Blaster bolts whizzed past his head as he heard the heavy footsteps of the small group of guards who pursued him. The Jedi raised his arms, using his frustration and anxiety to pull down a tree branch just as he passed under it. 

It came crashing down on the clones. Muffled shouts and cries of pain followed him as he drew further away from his pursuers. 

“Call for backup!” 

“He’s heading for that speeder!”

“ _Vod! Vod!_ Are you alright?”

They’d be fine. A few broken bones perhaps, but nothing Kix couldn’t mend.

He leaped into the seat of the speeder, his hands racing over the controls.

The Jedi shot off into the night. He would cut off Eval at the rendezvous point and...and deal with him. Save the Chancellor. _And end this now_. Trees blurred by him and the engine of the speeder whined in protest, but Obi-wan took no notice. This had to be it. This was going to be his final act as Rako Hardeen. It had gone too far, all of it. The Force gathered in anticipation as he screamed around the cliff face. No more lies, no more deception - he could go back to being Obi-wan Kenobi and leave this Force-forsaken mission behind him. 

Obi-wan sank deeper into the Force, reaching for its comforting warmth, its light. 

He bit back a cry when it recoiled from his touch. 

The Jedi brought the speeder to a shuddering stop near an abandoned water treatment plant on the far side of Theed. Obi-wan jumped off, immediately drawing his blaster into his hand. The weapon was heavy, clunky and he yearned to hold his lightsaber again.

The night was silent. A breeze swept through the clearing and the trees groaned in protest. They were old - old and tired, and they bent, contorted and mangled with the weight that they bore on their branches. 

And then he heard it. The smallest scrape of boot against gravel. He continued to walk forward, pretending to adjust his blaster. The noise came from behind him, from the aging, dilapidated building, near a set of rusting metal pipes. 

All of his senses were heightened, every whisper of the wind a shout, each minuscule movement of foot on gravel a roar. He came to pause in front of the forested area, propping his elbow in his empty hand. He listened intently - the footsteps were from one person, a non-humanoid. Was Eval alone? And if so, what had he done with the Chancellor? Where was Bane?

The footsteps drew closer - Eval was only a few feet away now. Now was as good a time as any. Obi-wan spun around, training his blaster on the criminal.

“Rako Hardeen,” greeted the Phindian, his own blaster aimed at the Concordian's head. “I see you’ve been made part of this stage of the operation.” He gave a wide-toothed smile and waved his weapon in an ironic gesture. “Congratulations,” he hissed.

“Where’s the Chancellor?“ Hardeen demanded. 

Eval stepped closer, throwing his head in the direction of the decaying building. "Over there.” 

"You came alone?" 

The Phindian’s eyes narrowed as he gave the slightest nod in response. 

"Didn't expect to see you get this far, to be honest. The Count must have taken a liking to you." Eval regarded him with a wary expression. "You’re a very intriguing man, Rako Hardeen.”

Hardeen rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I enjoy long walks along the Scarif coastline. Perhaps we can play this game later, after the Chancellor’s been delivered to Dooku?”

Eval snorted and gestured with his weapon in the direction of the abandoned building. “As you wish, Hardeen.” He gave an exaggerated bow. “After you.”

Hardeen sneered. “I’m not stupid, Eval.”

The Phindian’s eyes darted in multiple directions before coming back to rest on the Concordian. Eval hummed in displeasure but said nothing more.

The pair walked uncomfortably towards the brick building, each having his blaster subtly trained on the other. The corner of the stolen speeder was sticking out from behind the building. 

“There you go, Hardeen. One Chancellor, as promised.”

Eval gestured toward the prone form that was draped over the backseat. That certainly looked like Palpatine. Obi-wan couldn't help but smirk. Oh, how the mighty politician had fallen. The entire Republic under his thumb and to come to this? 

_So undignified, Chancellor._

“Great, so he’s here. Now what happens? It'll only be a matter of time before the Republic catches up to us.” 

The Phindian reached into his vest and pulled out the small data pad that he had been given by Bane. “Dooku’s supposed to meet us here with a ship. We put the cargo on board, get our credits, and then disappear into a life of luxury.” Eval finished the statement with an extravagant wave of his long arm.

The Concordian groaned and crossed his arms. “Some kind of luxury. We’re still fugitives, remember? What if Dooku doesn't show? ”

Eval chuckled uneasily, placing one hand on the edge of the speeder, the other on his hip close to his weapon. "He'll come."

But Obi-wan wasn't sure _anyone_ was going to come. The Jedi hadn't seemed to be able to track the abducted Chancellor out this far and as for Dooku -

The Jedi felt his ire rise. Had Dooku had double-crossed _him_ , as well?

_ You idiot, Kenobi, what did you expect? He's a Sith Lord._

But somehow that didn't stem his feelings of disappointment, nor the pinprick of betrayal.

Eval tapped his fingers on the side of the speeder, craning his head to look for any indication of an approaching ship. Obi-wan felt the growing desperation of the Phindian through the Force, the horrible seeping realization that he had likely been betrayed, the knowledge that if he was caught this time, he would likely face execution.

Obi-wan flitted his eyes closed, reaching out with his senses, absorbing the panic, fear, and anger in the creature. He felt a small rush of adrenaline, of muted euphoria. 

“Dooku’s double-crossed us,” Eval stated,breaking the Jedi’s trance. He pulled his blaster free with a wild flourish, his eyes wide, almost crazed. He paced back and forth, muttering to himself before coming to a stop next to the speeder containing the still-unconscious Palpatine. “Moralo Eval would prefer to keep his head on his shoulders. Can't be seen with this.” Eval grabbed the still unconscious Chancellor by the front of the robes and pulled him over the side of the speeder, his body crumpling to the ground in heap.

“What are you doing?” demanded the bounty hunter. Obi-wan strode forward, placing himself between the prone Chancellor and the Phindian.

“My apologies, Hardeen, but Moralo Eval no longer sees this as a profitable operation.” Eval pulled out his blaster and aimed it at the Concordian. “You understand, of course, that Rako Hardeen cannot be allowed to leave this place. Not if Moralo Eval wants to live to see tomorrow.”

The Jedi cursed himself. He should have called for backup, should have alerted Mace to what was going on. It would be easy enough to subdue the Phindian, but if Dooku showed up...

It was a risk he would have to take.

Obi-wan held out his arm, pulling Eval’s blaster towards himself with the Force. With a single _whoosh_ it landed in his outstretched palm, barrel now facing the Phindian.

The color drained from Eval’s face.

“Wh - What?” He looked in either direction. “What kind of _kark_ is this?”

The Jedi aimed both blasters at Eval's head. "In the name of the Republic, you are officially under arrest, Moralo Eval."

The Phindian froze, eyes wide...and then broke out into laughter. "A Jedi, then...oh...oooh, _this is too good_."

Time stood still as Obi-wan felt a chill travel down his spine. He tightened his grip on both weapons, ignoring the building dread that weighed heavy on his chest.

Eval recovered from his almost hysterical outburst and fixed the Jedi with a penetrating stare. "I have a better idea, Hardeen. Or whoever you are,  _Jedi._ " The Phindian spat out the word like a curse. "You let me go, with the promise to pay..." Eval crossed both arms, holding one hand to his long chin, "...let's say one thousand credits a month into an Outer Rim account."

Obi-wan snorted. "And why in the galaxy would I do a thing like that, Eval?"

The Phindian chuckled. "Because, Mr. Hardeen, everyone knows a Jedi won't kill an unarmed man." 

The Force sounded a distant warning.

"And I don't think you would want the fact that you murdered poor F'rkor in cold blood in that Republic prison to get out, now would you?  _Jedi._ "

Shock ripped through Obi-wan, the Force exploding in a deluge of denial, of  _rage._

_ No. No, he couldn't have...it was impossible. How - _

But _how_ didn't matter. All that mattered was that Eval  _knew._  He knew and one word to the Jedi...one word to  _Anakin_ \- would bring everything crashing down. 

And he couldn't allow that, could he?

Dooku had told him he would know what to do once he intercepted Eval. 

He had been right all along.

"Well then, Eval. It seems you have found me out. Congratulations. However, I advise you to consider this - " The Jedi waved his blasters in a lazy arc, his expression shifting from apprehension to dark amusement. "If I was so willing to kill F'rkor - which, incidentally, was a  _pleasure - w_ hat makes you think I won't do the same to you?" 

The small taste of Eval's fear he had from before was nothing like what he felt now. Obi-wan was heady with the rush of the Phindian's horror at his admission, was practically floating on a river of crimson. The Force had never felt so strong, so focused.

Eval held his palms up, stammering. “Moralo Eval doesn’t want any trouble.” The Phindian took a few faltering steps back, nearly falling over his own long limbs in his panicked retreat. "Moralo Eval was just doing his job."

“Indeed you were, Eval. And for that, you should be rewarded.” Obi-wan tilted the blaster to the side as Eval gave an audible sigh of relief. “Unfortunately for you, I am also doing _my_ job.” The Jedi’s voice was hard as ice, unyielding.

“You know, the Jedi believe that once we die, we become one with the Force, and rejoin those who left us already."

Obi-wan shot the Phindian a wicked, terrible smile. 

"So, if you happen to meet F'rkor again - "

_“Kriff!”_ Eval screamed as he tried to flee. 

A single blaster shot echoed through the night. Nearby, a small flock of birds took off, scattering at the intrusion of the violent sound. 

Obi-wan Kenobi holstered Eval's blaster in an easy movement. He sauntered over to the prone Phindian, feeling for a pulse. 

Nothing. The Jedi grinned.

He leaned in close to the dead criminal, whispering in his ear. 

“Tell him that Rako Hardeen sends his regards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UHOH.**
> 
> You know he's been itching to do that for a while now. Couldn't forget about our good friend F'rkor, now could we?
> 
> Chapter 15 preview: Obi-wan is in for a big surprise, Anakin is mondo pissed, and our resident evil head of state just can't help but drag the Jedi.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters will be a little shorter. 
> 
> This one is all Obi-wan, all the time.

Moonlight pooled in the grass clearing before the forest, a thousand dewdrops illuminated by the celestial orb.  Shadows of ancient trees rippled on the luminescent surface with an exhale of wind. Their twisting, knobbed branches moaned with the effort of movement.

An ash-rabbit hopped to the edge of the clearing. It stood on its hind legs and raised its snout to the air. The creature tensed, ceasing all movements. Its pupils dilated. Time stopped. And then it skittered away from the scene in a frenzy, racing back to the sanctuary of the dark forest. It, too, had caught the acrid, charcoal scent that permeated the night air. It, too, had felt how the humidity absorbed the putrid odor, amplifying it, broadcasting his crimes for all of Theed to discover. Obi-wan Kenobi shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso. No one ever forgot the smell of scorched flesh once they had experienced it. 

Blood and bits of brain continued to seep helplessly to the ground.

Obi-wan closed his eyes. He took a long breath in through his nose, holding it at the top - holding in the sight, the smell, the  _feel_ of it all. And then he let go. Something close to a purr sounded from the Jedi's throat as the air rushed out of his lungs. 

His eyes flitted open, his gaze still trained on the tangled corpse.

What a mess Rako Hardeen had made. He would have to deal with this crude bounty hunter later. 

But for now, Obi-wan - Obi-wan Kenobi, Jedi Master and High Council Member, General of the Clone Wars… _Obi-wan_ had more pressing matters.

He spared one last glance at the dead bounty hunter. The side of Obi-wan's lip quirked upwards.

And then he turned and strode away from the unmoving form of Moralo Eval.

Palpatine was still collapsed on the ground where he had been thrown out of the speeder. Wary of exacerbating any injuries the Republic leader may have had, Obi-wan outstretched his hand, gently lifting the Chancellor's body from the ground to the backseat of the stolen vehicle.  The Force felt slippery, oily even. But far from being an impediment, this new sensation seemed to act as a kind of strange lubricant. His energy, his power flowed with an ease that he had never known possible.

The Jedi drew closer to the speeder. Palpatine certainly looked dead - his face was ashen, his chest still. But the man didn't feel dead, at least not in the Force. Obi-wan pulled off his glove in one swift movement, reaching for the neck of the Republic leader. 

His hand hovered. Obi-wan stared at the long, angry scar running down the middle of his palm. So much - he had sacrificed so much. And now, after everything... 

Skin met skin, heat against ice. He felt nothing, no response, no tell-tale sign that he was vindicated, that there had been a reason for it all. 

And then Obi-wan was rewarded with a faint pulse. 

He nearly collapsed in relief. 

Alive. Most likely unhurt. 

The plan - this awful, terrible plan - it had worked. 

Obi-wan reached into his vest. He fished out a small commlink, one he hadn't used in nearly three days.

“Mace, come in please.” 

A cacophony of voices burst through the speaker. 

_“It’s him! Where the kriff -“_

_“Enough, Skywalker!_   _Obi-wan, you’re alive!”_ Mace’s exclamation rang through the device. 

“Yes...apparently I am,” replied the Jedi. “I have the Chancellor. I’m at an old water purification facility on the eastern edge of the city.”

The line went silent. Obi-wan glared at the comm. After all of this, they weren’t going to say anything? Not even a word of thanks?

“Mace, are you there?” he tried again. “I said I have the Chancellor. What is your status?”

Murmurs on the other end. Questions. Not clear enough for Obi-wan to discern the exact words, but enough to hear the inflections, the raised pitches.

The shadows of accusation.

_ “Obi-wan...are you sure?” _

Mace's skepticism tore open his skein of calm - of optimism.  The gossamer threads that held this source of light billowed like an apparition in the wake of the oncoming tempest.

“I’m looking at him right now, Mace.” The first shards of ice began to fall. 

The back-and-forth conversation skipped a beat.

_ “Hang on one second.” _

_Taptaptaptaptap_ his fingers played a frenetic scherzo on the side of the speeder.  _Taptaptaptaptap_ the pellets of sleet rained within his own mind, ricocheting off the hardened walls of his Force presence. The commotion on the other end of the line crescendoed to a fevered pitch before relaxing to a muted churn. A series of scraping sounds indicated that the comm device was being passed to someone else. 

_“Master Kenobi,”_ greeted the new voice.

Obi-wan clutched at the side of the speeder to keep himself upright. The wind howled, the shards of anxiety now tearing at the delicate lining of his stomach. 

“Ch - Chancellor?” 

Acid leaked from the multitudinous incisions. 

_“As far as I know, yes.”_ Palpatine chuckled, as if he had heard an amusing joke. _“Now, Master Kenobi, what’s this I hear about me being on the other side of the city?”_

The acid in Obi-wan’s stomach roiled, traveling up through his esophagus. “I…How did - “ He gripped the communicator, his knuckles turning white.

“Chancellor.” Where to start? There were too many questions, too many lies, too much subterfuge. And it all led to answers he wasn’t sure he was ready to hear. “Could you please tell me exactly what happened during the attack?” 

_“It’s very simple, Master Kenobi,”_ Palpatine replied. _“The initial explosion - oh, but excuse me. I assume you *are* aware of the attack at the Festival, no?”_

Obi-wan grunted in assent.

_ “Excellent. During this…unfortunate melee I found myself assailed by blaster fire. With Masters Windu and Skywalker otherwise occupied with little - or I fear to say - no reinforcements whatsoever, I took it upon myself to find refuge behind the lectern in the rotunda.”  _

The acid spread through Obi-wan’s chest, burning with every loud beat of his heart. 

_ “Young Anakin helped escort me to safety after the danger had passed. I must say, this was not a very well-coordinated attack, but for us to be caught so off-guard...well, it doesn't look very good for the Republic, Master Jedi." _

Obi-wan was drowning. Smothered on all sides, it enveloped him. A black hole, a gravitational pull he could not fight.

_"But still…"_ the Chancellor's turn of phrase was a sudden lifeline. A way out. Not consumed. Not yet. _"I must assume that this rather half-hearted attempt was due in some part to your actions, Master Kenobi.”_

The remnants of acid still remained in his veins, rushing up and down with each breath. With great effort, Obi-wan managed to choke out a response. “I, uh, yes…I suppose we averted a worse outcome of events. I…we’re all very happy to know you’re safe, Chancellor. If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to speak with Master Windu again. We have much to talk about.”

_ “Of course, of course. I must congratulate you on your cunning deception, Master Kenobi. I *do* hope you can give us some insight into Count Dooku’s overall plans once you return to duty.” _

“Yes, of course, Chancellor,” Obi-wan rasped. 

The Jedi tilted his head back, his gaze trained on the night sky. The last of the acid drained from him, leaving Obi-wan raw and inflamed. 

_“Obi-wan.”_ It was Mace again, his voice heavy.

“Mace, we need to talk." The words came tumbling out. "Dooku has another plan, or at least part of another one and - ”

_“Obi-wan...wait!"_ Was that accusation he heard in Mace's rebuke?  _"Excuse me, Chancellor.”_ Footsteps. A sigh. _"Just. Just stay with me. Don't - do not go anywhere. Do not move. I need to go somewhere where we won't be overheard. I will call you back in a few minutes."_

The comm clicked off.

Obi-wan ran a shaky hand over his face.

_How could I have been so wrong?_

Mace, _kriff_ the entire Council! They would want, no, demand answers, an explanation, and - and  Obi-wan needed their trust, needed them to believe that Anakin might be in danger. But now with the Chancellor and the mission in the state it was…he didn’t know what would happen.

The Chancellor. Or, not the Chancellor, apparently. Who was this person in the backseat of the speeder? Obi-wan took stock of the man. Everything looked the same - the robes, the face, the skin…this was Palpatine, no doubt.

_ Just as you are Rako Hardeen, no? _

The Force trembled. 

Without knowing exactly what he was doing, Obi-wan reached into the robes of the Chan - whoever this person was. His fingers brushed something hard, something metallic. He grasped the item and pulled it out of the Chancellor’s body. 

The face of Palpatine disintegrated, his entire form disappearing into thin air. Obi-wan stood frozen as he gazed upon a Republic clone guard. 

_What in all Sith hells was going on?_

The Jedi lifted the box to the moonlight. It was similar to the hologram technology they had all been given by Bane and Dooku at the onset of this mission. Except for one small detail. The box had two small protrusions on the side, two small needles that were crusted with blood and skin. 

_ “Obi-wan?”  _

Was this part of Dooku’s alternate plan? And how had the Sith gotten a hold of the same nanodroid technology that had allowed Obi-wan to assume Rako Hardeen’s identity? Supposedly they had used most of the limited supply that the Republic scientists had developed. And Palpatine himself had had to authorize the requisition.

The Force nudged at him. It was trying to tell him something but he was too lost, too unfocused, too -

_“Obi-wan! Come in!”_ Mace snapped. 

The Jedi started at the sharp order. Mace hadn't spoken to him like that since he was a Padawan. Hastily, he retrieved his commlink from his pocket. “Yes, yes. I’m here,” he replied.

_ “What is going on, Obi-wan? You don’t contact us for days, this kidnapping plot goes forward without any warning, and now you claim you have the Chancellor out there? Obi-wan, I just don’t - I need some answers. The Council is going to need answers. This...this isn't like you.” _

“I was a little preoccupied, Mace,” Obi-wan responded through grit teeth. Faking his death and being in the employ of Count Dooku wasn't like him, either. Yet the Council hadn't seemed to have any problem with  _that._

_“Yes, I figured that much out,”_ came the deadpan answer.

Obi-wan clenched his fist. “A lot has happened over the past few days. Dooku - " He shook his head and sighed. Obi-wan would get nowhere by ranting about Dooku's plans like a crazy man. "Never mind that. To answer the your most pressing question - the Chancellor I have is a copy, like me. I don’t know how they got a hold of the technology...“ 

_“Obi-wan, what in the - ”_  Mace let out a curse. _“I need you back here. Now. The Chancellor is pulling all security minus Skywalker as of tomorrow morning, and we need to talk.”_ He paused. _“Are you okay, Obi-wan?”_  Mace's voice softened with the question.

“Yes, yes I’m fine, I just - " Obi-wan stopped himself. His thoughts were flying at a million parsecs a second, his mind tuned into a hundred Holonet channels at once. "Where are the other bounty hunters?”

Mace explained that Embo and Twazzi had been arrested, and that Derrown was presumed dead after being shot in his jetpack. Obi-wan ignored the way the Force leapt in dark jubilation, ignored the simultaneous wave of nausea that passed over him with the news.

_“The prisoners haven’t said much,"_ Mace continued, _"but they did mention that Cad Bane and Moralo Eval were here on Naboo. Do you know their whereabouts?”_

Obi-wan glanced to his left. From this angle, he could only see the Phindian’s feet, splayed out in either direction.

“I don’t know where Bane is - he was supposed to meet us here at the rendezvous point.” 

_ “And Eval?” _

Mace Windu was a powerful Jedi. But even he couldn’t read a Force presence from this distance, could he? T o lie, outright lie to the Master of the Council, a man he had been conditioned to respect as his superior since his days as a Padawan…

The icy grip on his heart melted as fast as it had frozen. 

Mace was also the man who had asked him to do this, to become Rako Hardeen. For the Republic. For the Order.

Since when should hypocrites deserve the truth? 

“Dead,” he replied.

Mace made a sound of surprise. “Are you certain?”

And despite himself, Obi-wan smiled.

“He lost control of his speeder during the chase and was thrown off into a canyon wall. The impact killed him instantly.”

Tension crackled through the speaker. It was possible, of course. Completely rational. And what did Obi-wan Kenobi know? After all, it had been  _Rako Hardeen_ who had disabled Derrown's jetpack.  _Rako Hardeen_ who had pulled the trigger. 

_ “Hmm. That’s unfortunate.  It would have been useful to question him.”  _

Obi-wan didn’t dare respond.

_ “Still...it does mitigate a threat. Bane on his own is dangerous, but unlikely to be successful in pulling off any plan as brash as this one alone.” _

And that was it. How accepting the Jedi Order was of a collateral death, even as they preached diplomacy and non-violence on the front lines of a war.

_ “Head back to the palace. Bring the clone. We'll talk more there." _

Obi-wan went to terminate the transmission when Mace spoke again.

_ “And Obi-wan? We *will* be discussing your disappearance at your debriefing.” _

He thumbed the comm off, adrenaline spiking. Obi-wan slammed his hand down on the side of the speeder. The pain radiated up his arm, all the way to the crown of his head. He had the impulse, the  _desire_ to destroy the vehicle - just for the sin of being in his way - but he quickly dismissed it. That would be uncalled for. A show of a complete  _lack_ of control. 

And there was nothing out of his control right now, he thought as he gathered the stiffening corpse of the Phindian.

Nothing at all.

Ten minutes later, the remains of Moralo Eval fell to the bottom of the Iodisian Canyon.

 

* * *

 

The sky was still painted a dark blue as Obi-wan brought the speeder to a stop near the Theed palace grounds. He hopped out, leaving the still-unconscious clone guard in the back seat. Five figures approached from the entrance. Their movements were brisk. Three wore white armor, which gleamed in the moonlight. The silver weapons of the other two men glinted as their long strides jostled the cylindrical hilts at their hips up and down. Obi-wan swallowed. The clones had their helmets on, blasters at the ready. Nothing in the two Jedi's demeanor hinted at a warm welcome. 

If he hadn't known better, he would have thought they were readying themselves for an enemy assault. 

The group came to a halt a few feet away from him. “General Kenobi?” the soldier with the blue and helmet gasped. 

“Hello, Rex.” 

Apparently the clone commander had been briefed about Obi-wan's disguise. Had Rex also known of his supposed death? Had Cody? Obi-wan had a sudden desire to run, to retreat into some dark shadow. It had been difficult enough to become Rako Hardeen. But to have to return as Obi-wan Kenobi, to face everyone he had deceived, like  _this_...

He stepped forward to greet the others. Obi-wan was painfully aware of every movement of his muscles, of the way his clothing shifted on his unfamiliar body. One of the clones flinched, his hands spasming over the trigger of his blaster. Rex turned to him, placing a hand on the weapon. "Steady, soldier. He's with us."

Shouts echoed from the palace, the words incomprehensible. Whoever it was, they were deeply, deeply angry. Rex took off his helmet, his shock of blonde hair somehow even brighter than usual. His lips curved in a half-smile.

“That’s…that’s a -  a different look. Sir.” 

Obi-wan gave the clone a sheepish grin. Dear, sweet Rex. Diplomatic to the end. “Yes, well…I'm not so certain this particular style is the best fit for me.”

Rex grinned as if to say, 'welcome back.' The clone turned his head in question towards Mace Windu, who nodded in response. 

"At ease," the clone captain ordered. And only then did the other two soldiers relax their grips on their weapons. 

Mace, however, was not grinning. Quite the opposite, in fact. The Korun Jedi Master ran his eyes up and down Rako Hardeen's figure, his arms crossed tight over his chest.

“You have blood on your jacket, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan met the Korun's hard gaze with his own. “I was undercover as a Jedi-killing bounty hunter in Count Dooku’s employ. What did you expect?”

The clones exchanged furtive looks of confusion from beneath their helmets, their postures stiffening. Even Plo Koon, inscrutable as he was, shifted uncomfortably at the response. 

Mace showed no reaction, his eyes not leaving Obi-wan's. He was searching for something, for some weakness, some clue to his emotional state, much in the way Dooku had done only a day ago. The shimmering intensity of the other man's Force presence was all around him, a series of strong, nearly impenetrable walls.

Had the older Jedi sensed his...his _taint_? 

Mace frowned, but said nothing. He turned to Rex, issuing orders to report to the Naboo security force inside the palace. The clone commander gave a crisp salute and led his men inside the gates. The tallest of the three - the trigger-happy one, Obi-wan noted - stole a last glance back at the bounty hunter as they headed inside. The ir synchronized footsteps faded into the night. 

Once the clones were out of sight, Mace allowed his shoulders to round. 

“Alright, Obi-wan. Let's start at the beginning." Mace gestured at the other man's chest. "What happened?”

Obi-wan looked down. His own clothing was a mess of stains, including several smears that were obviously blood. Obi-wan bit the inside of his lip. Every being he had encountered as Rako Hardeen, every single one of them could have manifested on this jacket as a rusty, damning spot.

He should confess. Right here. Right now. Get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness. They would strip him of his Council seat, take him off the battlefield, maybe even keep him imprisoned. If they only knew what he had done in the line of duty...

_ If they only knew... _

But they didn't.

And if he told them now - 

Dooku's claim would be outlandish enough on its own. But if Mace and Plo - if the Council learned of his own actions...

They would never believe a Jedi who had touched...touched what he had.

He would lose all hope of saving Anakin. 

And what would be left for him after that?

"Obi-wan?" Plo had stepped closer, concern leaking through his shields. 

"Where's Anakin?"

"He’s with the Chancellor," Mace answered, confusion at Obi-wan's illogical train of thought evident in his voice.

Of course. Palpatine had cultivated a close relationship with Anakin from the start, from the moment he began his training. Anakin's friendship with the much older head of state had struck many on the Council as inappropriate at the time, even if it had allowed them certain access to the notoriously closed leader. The doubts of the Council had waned as Anakin neared adolescence, and more so when they were allowed to pepper his then-Padawan with seemingly innocent questions regarding Palpatine's ideas concerning the Jedi. Obi-wan - being so young and overwhelmed - hadn't intervened, despite his doubts about both the Council's and Palpatine's intentions.

He had spent years burying  _that_ particular resentment.

"I need to talk to him, Mace. It's urgent."

"Obi-wan…" Mace shot a worried glance at Plo, who remained impassive. "This…really isn’t a good time."

_ No, a better time would be when Anakin had fallen under the sway of this Sith!  _

But Obi-wan swallowed the angry retort. He needed the Jedi on his side. Anakin's future depended on it.

The words burned all the way down to his intestines. 

"We need to know what happened after Orondia. You need to explain yourself," Mace said. 

Obi-wan's jaw tightened. The fragile patchwork which had been keeping his patience in check was unfurling, thread by thread, a mounting cascade of broken fabric. 

Mace sighed. "Obi-wan, please I - "

"I was on Serenno," Obi-wan interrupted. His voice was distant and flat. It seemed to emanate from somewhere else, somewhere outside his own body. "Dooku and Eval held this tournament - no, not a tournament. Not really. An elimination-by-death competition." He gave an empty laugh. "It was all very charming, I assure you. The five of us that actually survived to the end won the fabulous opportunity to execute this kidnapping plot. We flew to Naboo and were given instructions as to our roles and separated. I really didn't know what was going to happen until Dooku showed up again and told me - "

Mace's eyebrows shot up to the very top of his forehead. 

"Wait, Dooku was here? On Naboo? Obi-wan, why didn’t you call us?"

The final strand of his patience snapped. 

“Mace, for star’s sake!" he flung an arm out to the side. "I was armed only with blasters." Obi-wan began to count off on one hand, his voice rising. "I was almost never alone, and Dooku took a very annoying and persistent interest in me. I was forced to spend far more time in close contact with the man than is healthy for anyone! He changed the plan! Right there in front of me! What would you have had me do? I rather think that Dooku would have had a very easy time of dismembering me limb by limb had I shown my hand at that point. And if that had occurred, you would have been no closer in learning the true aim of all of this!” 

Obi-wan's chest heaved, his breaths labored. That awful feeling of drowning had returned, the dark folds of his emotions drawing him further and further away from himself.

A glimmer, a hint of guilt, of remorse. The smallest indication of culpability on the Council's side. That was all Obi-wan wanted. 

But Mace's face remained chiseled in stone. His eyes widened a fraction - the only indication that he even had heard Obi-wan's outburst. 

“This...this has been a difficult mission - for all of us." The Korun ran a hand over his bald head, seemingly coming to a decision. "Look, we can finish this later. The danger has passed. Catch the next shuttle out of here. The transformation chamber is ready. Head back to Coruscant and take some time off, regain your balance, maybe see a - “

“Mace, I can’t do that.”

“What?” Somehow the dark circles under the Korun's eyes were more pronounced, the lines on his forehead deepened. 

“This isn’t over. Dooku - Dooku has another plan. I’m not sure if he intends to try and kidnap the Chancellor again but that' s not important." Obi-wan waved his hands in a dismissive motion, disregarding the incredulity in the features of the other Jedi. "There is something far more serious at hand. I think Anakin is in danger from this mysterious Sith Lord we’ve all been looking for.”

Mace struggled to find his voice. “How did you - Force, Obi-wan, this is serious. Dooku told you this?”

Obi-wan nodded. 

Narrowed eyes looked back at him. “What kind of danger?”

Obi-wan hesitated, suddenly uncertain as to how much he should divulge.

“Dooku said some factions he is aligned with wanted to possess Anakin. It has to be this Sith Lord, there's no one else he could ally with this closely! Anakin’s the most powerful Jedi in recent history, why didn’t we think about this before - “

Mace held up a hand. “Did he give you a name?”

“No. No, not yet but I think I can get that information from him…I - " 

Obi-wan took a deep breath.

"I made a deal with Dooku.”

Mace's jaw dropped. Plo stood unmoving, as if he were frozen in carbonite. And then all at once, the two Jedi exploded.

“ _WHAT_ Obi-wan do you have any idea - “

"Obi-wan - "

“ _As. Rako. Hardeen!"_ Obi-wan shouted over the confused din. Both men fell silent. "I agreed to work for him in exchange for information.”

“ _Kriffing Sith hells_  - “

He cut Mace off with a growl. “Need I remind you both _who_ asked me to take this mission in the first place? Of what the Council demanded of me? I didn’t do all of _this -_ ” he gestured wildly at himself, pointing at the bloodstains on his vest. "I didn't do all of this to come up empty-handed. I will not let this all be in vain. Dooku trusts me. We need to use that. We need this information." 

No answer. Mace's features were screwed up in confusion and disgust. It was almost comedic, the way he gawked at Obi-wan. Plo - who ever knew with Plo, hiding behind that mask of his? But Obi-wan was certain he was no more thrilled by this knowledge than Mace was. 

“This is an  _incredibly_ dangerous idea. I really don’t think it’s a good idea for a Jedi Master, a Council member no less to - “

“We passed the threshold of dangerous the minute I became Rako Hardeen, Mace.”

The other man clamped his mouth shut.

“Look, this is the break we’ve been looking for," Obi-wan pressed. "This could end the war.And Anakin - I have to - he needs to be safe, for all of our sakes.”

Mace allowed his head to fall back. His lips pursed together as he contemplated the starry night sky. It was nearing morning, the first fingers of azure reaching out from the horizon. 

The Korun let out a heavy sigh and lifted his head. “One day. You get one day and if you don’t come back I’m sending in a Jedi task force. _Vape it_ , I'm sending the entire Council after you.” 

“And Obi-wan?”

“Yes?”

“Please use your comm this time. Stay in touch. Contact us if you need backup."

Obi-wan stared blankly at the Korun. 

"We're on your side, Obi-wan. Me, Plo - all of us on the Council."

If only Obi-wan could believe that to be true. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow setup chapter.
> 
> Almost there! (I love having Rex and Cody around to play with. They really add depth to the whole Jedi/Sith drama.)
> 
> Now, as you all might or might not know - Obi-wan's story will *not* end with "Hard Deviations." There's much more to come, and I am *excited* as hell for the next installment, because it has one of my favorite scenes that I've been looking forward to for *quite* some time!!!!
> 
> As always, feel free to pop on over to tumblr to say hi! @legobiwan


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh here we go!!!!
> 
> Nice big chapter for our penultimate entry. (Did I say something about this chapter being short? I am full of it, apparently...)
> 
> (fair warning, I indulged myself a *little bit* in the beginning here. bad author - bad, bad author :o )

“I’m surprised to hear you weren’t informed of the plan, Anakin.”

“No, no one told me anything. They allowed me to believe - “ A vein in the young man’s neck rose beneath his skin.

_ “They lied to me!” _

Palpatine sat behind an ornate wooden desk, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. The desk was a work of art, a commission, in fact, one he himself had ordered just after assuming the position of Chancellor of the Republic. Yes, he had discovered the young artist during a tour of the ravaged city of Ferentia on Naboo, when he had been part of some government taskforce to restore and aid those sites that had been involved with the Trade Federation attack. The whole trip had been a dismal, pedestrian affair, but tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city was a young Toydarian that the Force seemed to favor. Gaunt, her hair stringy and splitting, her pallid features had widened at the approach of the government cadre. 

A short conversation later, Palpatine had learned everything he needed to about the young, starving artisan and the occult tools she possessed - family heirlooms, she had said, of little real value but rich in sentiment.

One of his first acts as Chancellor had been to locate the young woman. Of course, she had been overjoyed at the offer. Indebted, living inside the hull of an old droid ship - what other choice had she had?

A year later, the piece was completed, worth every credit Palpatine had spent on the commission. If the young woman had found his requests strange, she never voiced her opinion, most likely thinking them a quirk, some whimsy of a rich and powerful politician.

Such a tragedy that only a day later, the Toydarian had been found dead in her living room. Congestive heart failure, the medics had said. Nothing could be done.

No funeral had been held, no burial rites given. After all, only Palpatine and a few well-placed aides even knew of her existence. She had no family to mourn her, no friends to ask about her well-being. The occult tools she owned had been confiscated for further study by the office of the Chancellor of the Republic. And the rest of the universe moved on, unaware and blissful in its ignorance. 

Sidious placed his hands on the surface of the desk, running them over the baroque, etched patterns. He pressed his fingers into the grooves, feeling for the exact points that he needed to access, all of this while Palpatine - kind and sympathetic - appeared to be listening with rapt attention to Skywalker’s unending litany of complaints. 

Underneath the guise of the Chancellor, the Sith opened himself to the power that rose from the curled symbols, allowing the very air he breathed to be permeated with the dark side.

Everything was becoming clear.

The Sith flitted his inner eye open and gave Skywalker a sad smile. 

“It’s really a pity, Anakin. I have no doubt you would have been able to aid Master Kenobi’s investigation without the Jedi Council having to resort to such terrible, underhanded means.”

The young Jedi’s entire body curled inwards in a protective gesture. Skywalker fell mute. Sidious allowed the silence to drag on, allowed the young man to marinate in his feelings of anger, of betrayal.

And then at just the right moment, Palpatine let out a gentle sigh.

“The Council - well, we’ve spoken about this before, my boy. Always operating in secret, not trusting anyone except those in their inner circle.And to imagine, Master Kenobi, even…" Palpatine tutted, shaking his head in remorse. “But let us not dwell on such unpleasant things. How is the delegation from Naboo faring after the attack?”

Blue eyes flitted in every direction but his own and Skywalker retreated into his robes. The boy began to pick at some invisible loose strand on his tunics. “They’re fine,” he muttered to the carpet, which boasted a worn path where the young Jedi had been pacing back and forth for the past half an hour. “Ahsoka is with Senator Amidala and her retinue. I…uh…I wasn’t needed.”

Palpatine smiled. “Well, that is only because of your efforts earlier. I personally think you did a highly commendable job, and should be rewarded as such."

Skywalker mumbled something about how Jedi don't crave rewards, but it was a half-hearted rebuttal at best. Sidious didn't answer. Instead, he reached out once again to the carvings on the desk, feeling for them through the Force.

Did he sense...Senator Amidala?

How interesting. 

How predictable.

But not something the Sith wanted to prod at right now. No, he was saving that particular piece of information for later. Right now, it was better to throw salt in already obvious wounds. 

“Have you been able to speak with Master Kenobi?”

The Force crackled with electricity at the mere mention of Skywalker's former master. Sidious almost laughed. This was far too easy. The Jedi Council had practically turned the boy themselves!

“I do hope he is able to provide some useful intelligence," Palpatine continued. "This mission was quite costly, not only in terms of resources, but the good name of the Jedi Order. I’d hate to think that all these risks were taken with the Council’s approval and…well, I shouldn’t say much more than that.” Palpatine stood, walking around the edges of the desk  to stand next to Skywalker.

At this range, the untamed power of the young man was dizzying in its intensity. One more well-placed word from Sidious and the boy would unleash utter destruction.

And Sidious could imagine it, could see the catastrophic cyclone that Skywalker would become. He could envision the upended furniture, the clones rushing in, only to find themselves suspended in the air, unable to breathe. 

Their bodies falling to the floor.

_His_  tool, the power this young man held...it would belong to him. 

But not quite yet.

“You should rest, Anakin. I’ve arranged a room for you adjacent to my quarters, in the unlikely case of any further intrusion.”

Skywalker nodded. His movements were stiff, unanimated. He cleared his throat and responded with a polite croak of thanks before turning from the Chancellor and leaving the room.

Surprising that the young man didn’t voice a single word of protest, Sidious mused. Skywalker had intimated to Palpatine the nature of his relationship with Senator Amidala, and the Chancellor had always been there with a kind word and a knowing smile. On any other occasion, the boy might have demurred, would have graciously declined his offer of room and board, but…ah, it was clear now. Amidala had…requested this, had spurned Skywalker's advances. The details were unimportant. Sidious only had time for domestic squabbles in as far as they could further his plans, and it seemed in this case that Skywalker was seen as a threat by his… _lover_.

Isolation would lead to resentment, just as Sidious had hoped. And who knew who Amidala might entertain while Skywalker was away, in her pain, in her fear. The Sith allowed himself a silent chuckle. The possibilities were endless.

Perhaps Skywalker’s conversion would occur sooner than he had thought.

Then again, it didn’t pay to assume too much. After all, the day - although successful - had not gone as he had intended.

No, not at all. Sidious walked to the desk and dug his fingers into its face.

Dooku.

The Force came into a fuller expression, a yawning cavern of oscillation, an unending cavity that sucked in the dark.

Sidious bared his teeth.

The man was gaining confidence, gaining a sense of control. He was up to something - he always was, but recent events indicated…

The overwhelming magnetic pulse subsided.

Perhaps it was nothing. After all, Dooku's actions had not only expedited Skywalker’s fall, but made the Order, specifically Kenobi - look breathtakingly inept in the eyes of the Senate and the people.

Palpatine once again opened himself to the dark. He had manipulated events so Anakin would fight Dooku tomorrow. His ultimate goal remained unchanged. In the end, the alterations to his plan had only been cosmetic, not nearly important enough to derail his objectives. 

Still...there was something else stirring in the dark side, something new, something unexpected.

Sheev Palpatine did not like the unexpected. Surprise was an element beyond his control, a reminder that the Force - even the dark side - amused itself with the fates of its wielders.

But there was nothing to do but wait for whatever new, impotent threat to his power this was. He could only observe and react. The dark side was patient, and he would allow events to unfold as he had planned.

As for his wayward apprentice…

Sidious smirked.

Well, that was the way of the Sith, now wasn’t it? He would allow Dooku to play his little game, as long as it didn’t interfere with his own plans. Recent events, including his order to eliminate the Dathomirian pretender, had altered his relationship with the Count. Sidious ran the risk of alienating his apprentice prematurely if he continued in this manner. 

No, he would allow Dooku his childish schemes and trivial attempts at revenge. Soon enough, Skywalker would be at his side and the galaxy his. And Yan Dooku would be but a footnote in the history books. 

 

* * *

 

The silver hilt weighed in his palm. It wasn't heavy, not really. Full, perhaps, teeming with energy. The kyber crystal housed inside the metal cylinder sang to him, its melody achingly familiar.

It had been far too long.

He held the lightsaber close, as if physical proximity would somehow amplify the haunting sounds, somehow ground him in the known, connect him to the man he was.

But even this had changed. The sonic patterns of the crystal - once pure, if not a little melancholy -  had shifted. The patterns were now more complex, full of edges and dissonance that had not existed before. 

Pulse racing, he ignited the weapon. Light flooded the dark corridor, causing the marble statues to cast long, narrow shadows down the passageway. 

Obi-wan let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. 

Still blue.

The Jedi sagged in relief. 

Kyber crystals had a unique, somewhat symbiotic relationship with their wielders. They were the power source of a Jedi's weapon, but more than that, they were a reflection of the person who used the weapon. And as that wielder changed, as they grew and aged and gained experience, the kyber crystal would grow with them. Even the most seasoned Jedi - if they were growing, if they were learning - their kyber crystal would change with them. And then one would have to learn from the crystal itself, to listen to its subtle changes and react. Often this meant having to learn how to fight with one's lightsaber all over again.

At least, that was the idea. Whether or not some of the more venerated members of the Council had changed enough in the past few years to warrant any further development...

Obi-wan blew out a breath and banished the stray thoughts from his mind. Whatever the cause, he needed to adapt to these new changes quickly.

He began with a simple stance, his movements slow, deliberate at first. These were the earliest exercises, the ones he had learned in the créche, so long ago. Slowly, he built up through the different forms, his motions becoming more complex, more dance-like. Obi-wan's lightsaber slashed through the air - left, right, feint. There was a clinical precision to the gestures he didn't know he was capable of, an exactness he had not exhibited before. His footwork boasted none of the wasted movements he had noticed in himself even a month previous, not to say a few years ago, as on Geonosis...

Lightsaber combat was a serious matter to a Jedi, used only as a last resort and always undertaken with honor in mind. Obi-wan had to laugh at that ideal, whose logic disintegrated in the face on an ongoing, seemingly interminable civil war. No Jedi would admit it, but there was a certain euphoria that came with the feel of the hilt in one's hands, the way the kyber crystal resonated which each move, the deadly dance of two sabers pitted against one another -

A faint buzzing in his chest interrupted his meditation. Obi-wan reached into his vest, retrieving the commlink.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Hardeen,” a familiar baritone answered. “I take it you are...unoccupied at the moment?"

Obi-wan shut down his lightsaber and returned it to his belt. Why could he not get a moment's peace? It was becoming increasingly difficult to find balance, to carve out ten measly minutes to center himself. Mace and the Council were breathing down his neck. The specter of Anakin -  _in the crosshairs of a Sith Lord for Force's sake_  - weighed on his consciousness. And now Dooku was demanding his attention with his machinations. Again. 

The Jedi huffed as he pressed 'transmit.' "Yeah, I'm..." Obi-wan searched for the right word, his focus on the present still hazy. "...around." 

"Excellent." Dooku seemed to take no notice of the Jedi's lame response. "I have a small payment for you. That is, if you would care to collect and continue our agreement.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there," he grumbled in the crude accent of the Concordian bounty hunter. 

"Excellent. I will send you the coordinates. Do hurry, Mr. Hardeen. Time is of the essence."

Obi-wan took note of the data Dooku sent him and shut off the communicator with a sigh. 

This had been his choice, he reminded himself. He had argued with Mace for the opportunity to take advantage of this...strange partnership with the Sith. But now that the moment was nearing, Obi-wan felt trepidation. Would he receive the knowledge he sought, or would he be forced to commit further atrocities as a means of acquiring the single piece of information that could possibly end the war? The Jedi massaged his temples with both hands, a futile attempt at releasing the rising tension that manifested as low-level static in the back of his mind. No. There was no reason to go borrowing trouble in advance, as Qui-gon would have said. Obi-wan was just going to have to trust in the Force. 

Somehow, that idea wasn't as comforting as it had been in the past. 

And with that thought, Obi-wan began to make his way towards the coordinates Dooku had sent him. 

The Theed palace was deserted, as was to be expected in the middle of the night. Obi-wan reached out with the Force, scanning for any other lifeforms - palace workers, guards, or errant Sith Lords. But he sensed nothing, only the  _tap-tap_  of his own boots against the marble floor, counting down his steps until the inevitable confrontation.

Obi-wan patted his vest, confirming yet again that the cylindrical weapon hidden inside was safe.

He had his lightsaber. That already gave him an advantage he did not have before. Although in light of his lack of past success in combat against the Sith Lord, that wasn't all that reassuring. Obi-wan could still feel the dust of Geonosis swirling in his lungs, the terrible ordeal of having his memories rifled through, one by one, with ruthless efficiency. He could smell every last odor of burnt flesh, the nauseating scent of familiarity and horror. So immersed was he in the memory, that Obi-wan barely managed to avoid the large white mass that loomed in his path. 

He let out a particularly vile curse, sidestepping the object just in time, throwing a nasty glance back at the tall, inanimate figure as he walked past. The Force seemed bent on mocking him and his failures tonight. The statue he had nearly walked into was missing an arm, as well. 

_Force take that thing!_  

No, no - he couldn't - this wasn't the time. The Jedi tried to calm his racing heart. This was how people lost their limbs, how they died - lack of control.  _His_ lack of control. Obi-wan looked upwards at the high ceiling, staring at the ornate patterns etched into the stone. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

Bury your rage.

_Focus._

“Well, Mr. Hardeen, I see you are no worse for the wear,” a familiar voice called from the other end of the corridor. 

Obi-wan tensed, lowering his eyes to follow the sound to its source. It was Dooku, of course. The Sith was standing in front of a wide, ceiling-high window, bathed in moonlight, looking every bit the nobleman in the palace's grandiose setting.

A series of long strides brought Obi-wan face-to-face with the Sith. 

“What was that  _kark_  with the Chancellor, Dooku?” Obi-wan barked, throwing an arm out to the side.

“There was a slight modification to the original instructions," Dooku responded placidly. "Unfortunately there was neither time nor opportunity to inform you of this.” 

“You were going to double-cross me!” Obi-wan's voice nearly rose an octave. This was no feint of outrage, no artifice of his Concordian identity. 

Dooku chuckled, pulling at his beard. “Not at all, Mr Hardeen. If I were going to double-cross you, I would have made certain the Republic knew exactly where you and Eval were to meet up.”The man paused for a moment, still stroking his chin in thought. “Speaking of that  _irritant_ ," the word rolled harsh off the Count's tongue, "what did become of Eval?”

Obi-wan didn’t want to let it in. He had spent the first hours of the night attempting to meditate, to quell any urge to let it into his thoughts, to feel it, to  _yearn_  for it. And yet, the Jedi could not help but allow the intoxicating pleasure to rise up from his lower abdomen, could not help that icy warmth that radiated from his core. Obi-wan's eyes narrowed to half-slits as the side of his lip rose upwards.

It was all the confirmation Dooku needed.

“Well, then I must commend you on a job well done, my friend.”

And there it was again, that awful vision - the one he had tried, and failed, to expunge from his mind. Him, in his Jedi tunics, his hands covered in blood, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The shattered Force, its jagged pieces hurled outwards, their edges piercing his skin, his very essence bleeding from the wounds. And  Dooku looming behind him, his strong hands on Obi-wan's shoulders, as if he were the very specter of his dead Master, uttering those exact words.

Oh, the  _pleasure_  he felt. The power in the Force had been unparalleled. 

Obi-wan clamped down on his shields.

No. It hadn't happened like that. Dooku had lied. Had tried to manipulate him. Just as he was doing right now.

“Where’s Bane?” Obi-wan growled, hoping to steer the conversation away from the sensitive topic of the dead Phindian.

“Ah, yes, I neglected to mention.” Dooku took a step back, making a show of glancing at the chrono on his wrist. “He should be moving into position right now."

"Into position?" Obi-wan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as his heart began to race.

"You should pay more attention, Mr. Hardeen," the Count chided. "I did warn you that not all was as it seemed. Yesterday's events were but a cover for the true plot." 

The awful realization slammed into him like an icy gale on Hoth. "Right now?"

Dooku grinned. "Indeed, Mr. Hardeen."

_Va_ _pe it all!_  He should have known something like this would happen, should have known that Dooku had another plan. And now he was faced with that terrible choice - the one he had hoped would never come to light. Reveal himself and save the Chancellor? Or delay to try and obtain that precious information Dooku dangled in front of him? Each possibility sucked at his limbs, dragged him downwards into some endless, terrible morass. 

It was his duty to protect the Chancellor, that had been the entire point of this Force-forsaken plot! But the information Dooku held...not only could it save Anakin, it could save the entire Republic. 

Wasn't that worth the price of one man? 

If Dooku wasn't lying, that was. But Obi-wan didn't want to take that chance, couldn't risk the opportunity that had been given to him, even as he felt himself being smothered by guilt, by the abnegation of his Jedi ideals.

The Jedi swallowed over a lump in his throat. Maybe he wouldn’t have to choose. It had worked on Kiros, after all, why not here? Obi-wan crossed his arms over his chest. If he could activate his commlink without Dooku noticing...he couldn't use the Force, he would be discovered instantly. But if he moved his hand in the just the right way... 

Dooku was droning on, explaining - no, pontificating about the specifics of this newest plan that involved Bane. Obi-wan paid him no attention. His focus was solely on that one button, every nerve, every muscle in his body pointed towards that small bit of machinery. His fingers were so tantalizingly close, Force, why had he buried his second communicator so deep in his vest? _Come on, Kenobi!_ One more centimeter and he wouldn't have to choose. One more millimeter and his conversation with Dooku would be relayed to the Jedi, and Obi-wan could still learn the truth...

A dark chuckle stopped his movements. 

The look Dooku's face was all he needed to see. In that terrible moment, the Jedi knew his choice had been made.

"Rather ridiculous for the Republic to pull all of their security, don’t you think," Dooku illuminated his lightsaber in front of his face, " _Master Kenobi_?”

He had chosen duty.

The Jedi quickly drew his own lightsaber, abandoning all pretense of his former identity. Obi-wan brought his blade over his head in his personalized Soresu stance, allowing the Force to bloom around him. 

Dooku allowed his weapon to hang at an angle at his right side in response. An invitation to attack, for Obi-wan to be the aggressor. 

As if Obi-wan would give him the pleasure of a second victory.

“When did you figure it out, Dooku?”

But the Count didn’t attack, didn't immediately answer with some smug retort. No, the man just stood there, that awful smirk plastered on his narrow face, the invitation to disavow his Jedi ideals still open. Obi-wan clutched his lightsaber in his right hand, irritating the skin around the scar that still ran down his palm. His body ached with unreleased tension, with the effort of containing himself. 

_ Wait. Wait for him to attack.  _ _Goad him into action._

"Come now, Dooku. Don't tell me you've suddenly become modest." Acid dripped off the Jedi's words. "Do tell when you solved the mystery of Rako Hardeen. Gloat in your superior skills, how you outwitted the Jedi. I would expect nothing less from you."

“There is no need to be defensive, Master Kenobi." Dooku finally answered, fixing him with a penetrating stare. "I expect far better from you."

Obi-wan growled. Why were his conversations with Dooku always like this, always skirting the edge of didactic? 

"Really, was this truly the best idea the Council could conceive of?" The Sith gestured airily towards Obi-wan. "Death by sniper?” Dooku advanced forward, his lightsaber unmoving. “Truly you must know I have far more respect for your abilities than that.”

So he had known the entire time. Had known from the moment Eval had dropped that information. Any lingering guilt over the Phindian’s death was swept away in a deep wave of violet that sprung from the Jedi's chest.

“Then why not kill me when you had the chance?" Obi-wan demanded. "You certainly had more than enough opportunity. Or are you too afraid to dirty your hands any further?” Obi-wan shifted his feet. His body was nearly vibrating in anticipation, in the need to move, to attack. He had to get a hold of himself. Obi-wan was dangerously close to losing control, to acting out of anger and spite. Doing so would only embolden the Sith, would only give Dooku what he wanted. 

The Count remained impassive, giving Obi-wan the facial equivalent of a shrug. “I had my reasons. And besides, I do believe our little tête-a-têtes were more than illuminating, were they not?”

Obi-wan sneered. “Too illuminating. Unfortunately, you seem to have shown your hand a bit early.”

Dooku gave the Jedi a haughty glance. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Master Kenobi.”

_Enough._  The last dams of his control broke as Obi-wan brought his blade forward. Dooku’s red weapon clashed violently with his blue in an explosion of light.

Obi-wan pressed his blade forward, the Count's features now even more severe, more hungry in the unnatural lighting. The Jedi spun on his heel, ducking a parry aimed at his neck, using the small opening to stab his weapon towards Dooku's abdomen. The Sith had read his movement, however, and easily evaded the strike, opting to meet Obi-wan's uncharacteristic short attacks with his own. 

Dooku smiled in recognition. “Impressive, Master Kenobi,” he commented as they continued their dance. “But you may want to consider planting your feet a little further apart and angling your strike a bit more.” Dooku shifted to his right. "Like this."

There was no time to think, no time to come up with a witty retort as the Sith came within a breath of slashing Obi-wan’s throat open with his crimson blade. The Jedi fell back, dropping his right shoulder into Dooku’s movement, using the Sith’s follow-through as cover. It allowed him the millisecond he needed to spin on his foot and meet the next blow with his own saber, blue and red crashing together.

“Much better. You are a quick study, my friend.”

_Damn him!_  Obi-wan gripped his weapon, the ridges of the hilt digging into his palm. Of course he had inadvertently done exactly as Dooku said and it was better and, Force, he hated himself - hated Dooku for being right. Obi-wan growled, the flesh of his throat protesting at the guttural, primal sound as he immediately switched back to his favored Soresu.

Dooku allowed their weapons to separate, choosing not to press his advantage. The Sith frowned. “A shame, Master Kenobi, you show great promise with the Makashi form. Few Jedi have the patience, precision, and natural refinement to execute it to any standard worth commenting on. I imagine you took up this study after our initial encounter on Geonosis?”

Obi-wan grit his teeth, trying again for a more offensive approach, bringing his blade to the side in a feint, before attempting a desperate slash at Dooku’s neck and oh, how satisfying would it have been to separate the man’s head from his shoulders, if for nothing else than to just to shut him up.

But the Count easily evaded the maneuver, stepping back to bring his own blade back to his side, angled downwards his ready position. A subtle taunt. Come and get me. 

Obi-wan responded in same, bringing his own saber parallel to the ground, the intense heat of the blade radiating towards the side of his head. A negation. He would not attack. Not this time. ”An astute observation, Dooku. I would prefer that those in my protection keep all their remaining limbs,” he challenged.

Dooku’s nose crinkled at the mere reference to his former Padawan. “A wise strategy. Unlike your young protege, you seem to learn from your mistakes. Most commendable.”

The mention of Anakin tripped the Jedi's ire. Once again, Obi-wan made the first move towards his adversary, this time swinging low, towards Dooku's knees.

Again, the Count sidestepped the maneuver, and the fight continued in earnest. The crashing lightsabers travelled down the abandoned hallway, Dooku meeting each of Obi-wan's moves with his own, occasionally mixing his elegant Makashi with a more acrobatic form, and it was only after Obi-wan  _again_  came within an inch of losing his left hand that he was able to remind himself that this  _was_  the man who had trained Qui-gon, and of course, he would know Ataru.

And the thought settled like lead in the Jedi's stomach as he ducked a vicious backhand from the Sith. He had no desire to battle the ghosts of the past while dealing with the devils of the present. 

But the weight of the realization, the onerous mission, Obi-wan's own suffocating guilt - there was only so long he could carry it all and survive. The Jedi's moves were slowing, his mind muddling.  Obi-wan's energy was reaching a critical point.He could not keep this up, not now, not without tapping into _that_ , not without breaking the Force into a million pieces and drawing from that forbidden space that he continued to deny the existence of. No, he couldn't, wouldn't do that. And so Obi-wan fought through the haze of fatigue, even as he observed himself from the outside, as he saw his moves falter, heard his muscles scream for relief.

They reached the end of the corridor, the cool air of outside landing platform a balm for the exhausted, sweaty Jedi. And Dooku's hits, while still severe, had somehow softened, the intervals between his parries widening, and if Obi-wan hadn't known better, he would have thought Dooku was throwing the duel, that they were sparring more than actually trying to harm each other. 

Then again Count was a elderly man - perhaps he was tiring, as well. 

Dooku gave one last slash with his saber before flipping backwards, landing close to a speeder.

A lick of irritation whipped at Obi-wan. “Running away again, Dooku? I can assure you we have the palace on complete lockdown. There won’t be any avenue for escape.”  Obi-wan pointed his lightsaber forward. “Surrender.”

But the Count made no move to escape.

“Surrender, Master Kenobi? Tsk tsk, you know full well by now that I have no intention of surrendering.”

Contrary to his words, however, Dooku shut off his saber, hanging the curved hilt on his belt with a small flourish. He opened his arms wide and sauntered towards the Jedi, the Sith's features a strange mix of amusement and predatory leer.

“Strike me down, Master Kenobi. Run me through with your weapon. After all, you would only be doing your  _duty_  as a Jedi.”

Dooku stepped even closer, and Obi-wan could sense the man's silvery presence in the Force caressing the edges of his own jagged consciousness.  “I can  _feel_  it on you, Master Kenobi. You can only contain what is growing within for so long.”

No. No no no. Obi-wan clamped down his jaw, an attempt to hold in the building eruption.

A millisecond later the Force shattered in white-hot anger.

_ “LIAR!” _

The denial was torn raw from his chest, bloody, still beating. Obi-wan brought his saber down in a violent movement, intent on cleaving the Sith in half. 

But Dooku blocked his attack easily, a shadow of triumph on his face. 

Again and again, Obi-wan struck at the Sith, to no avail. His movements - normally so restrained, so controlled - were wild, his attacks unplanned. He was pure anger, pure rage. The rational part of Obi-wan's mind knew that he should be dead or at least dismembered by this point, so sloppy was his fighting. He didn’t stop to consider why Dooku was allowing him to vent his unbridled emotions in this way, why the man just didn't  _end_  this right now. 

And then he felt it.

Fire was approaching, a familiar, chaotic dance of flame and light. 

_ Anakin. Finally.  _

The Jedi barely registered the subtle widening of Dooku’s eyes as he backflipped into the nearby speeder, Obi-wan's lightsaber cutting through the durasteel floor where the Sith had been seconds before. Dooku let out a muted hiss. “I will have to make this short.”

Obi-wan faltered.

Something was out of place. A foul presence…something far darker than Dooku, far more malevolent, was approaching from the direction where Anakin…

Obi-wan blanched, panic stirring in his chest. No. He didn’t. He couldn’t have. It was too early. The Jedi swiveled his head back to Dooku, hoping for some kind of explanation for this sudden void in the Force.

But the Sith only picked a small object out of his pocket and tossed it at the Jedi, who caught it with practiced ease.

“Prove me wrong, Master Kenobi,” Obi-wan could barely hear him over the roaring in his ears, the desperate waves of denial in his own mind. “I repeat that I have not lied to you nor have I gone out of my way to bend the truth - unlike the Order which you so blindly follow.” Dooku smiled and gestured towards the small data chip in Obi-wan's hand. “The information you now hold should be more than enough evidence for the veracity of my word. One suggestion, though, Master Kenobi - I do suggest that you find a…private place to unearth the contents of what I have just given you. I suspect the Order will not look so kindly upon the information contained there.”

And with that, the speeder - and Dooku - vanished into the Naboo night.

_“Where is he?”_  A blue light came speeding down the corridor to the landing platform. Anakin stopped just short of Obi-wan, his face contorted in rage.

That dark surge, that terrible abyss...it couldn't have been…

No. Impossible.

But the information Dooku had imparted to him....if it were true...

A second figure appeared next to Anakin, placing a hand on his shoulder. The Chancellor. 

Desperation bled through him. Obi-wan grasped at any explanation, anything that would contradict the damning evidence directly before him. The Chancellor, perhaps? Could _he_ have been the source of that awful, unending darkness?

Obi-wan almost laughed out loud. His mind was racing, his thoughts fevered, nearing hysterical. 

As if a mere politician could pose such a threat. 

“Anakin," Obi-wan's voice cracked. "Are you alright?” 

He was met with a stare that could have caused spontaneous combustion. The flames of the Force whipped around his former student - angry, defiant, and…sad.

Obi-wan sighed.  _This_  was the Anakin he knew.

“I’m fine, Obi-wan," the young man spat. Obi-wan took a step back. He hadn’t exactly been expecting a warm welcome, but the vitriol with which Anakin spoke to him was disconcerting.

Later. They would deal with it later, in private.

Obi-wan turned to the other man. “And you, Chancellor?”

Palpatine regarded Hardeen with an intense curiosity before allowing his features to settle into a characteristic blandness.

“Oh yes, quite fine. Thanks again to the heroics of the Jedi.” The Chancellor placed a hand on Obi-wan’s shoulder. It was cold and uncomfortable.

_Force,_ he despised politicians. 

The Jedi choked out a humorless laugh. “Yes, well we seem to specialize in heroics, Chancellor.”

Obi-wan plastered a smile on his face. We _ specialize in hypocrisy _ .

“Well," Anakin interrupted, "as long as  _I_  live, no harm will ever come to you, Your Excellency.” The younger Jedi gave a small bow in the direction of the Republic leader. 

“Well, here’s to your long and prosperous life, Anakin," responded Palpatine. "One shudders to think where the galaxy would be without the Jedi." The Chancellor gestured towards the palace. "Now come, gentlemen. I’m sure the Council will want a report on this whole incident, no?”

Both Jedi murmured in assent and followed the Republic leader down the long hallway where Obi-wan and Dooku had fought moments before. The air still held the smell of ozone, of burnt marble and adrenaline. 

“It’s truly a pity that you couldn’t eliminate Dooku, Master Kenobi.” 

Obi-wan winced inwardly at the Chancellor's statement. Now, outside the heat of battle, his realized his actions - or lack thereof - did not reflect well on him  _or_  the Order. 

It was not a conversation he was looking forward to. 

“Circumstances, unfortunately, did not allow me to capture the Count. He is a formidable opponent, Chancellor.”

“Yes, indeed. I do recall the reports from that whole dust-up on Geonosis. Still…it seems almost…a wasted opportunity. I sincerely doubt we will have another chance to get as close to Dooku as you did. Was it not possible - forgive me if this sounds impertinent - to eliminate the Count in some way when you were undercover?"

“Unfortunately, Chancellor, an opportunity to capture Dooku did not present itself. We are merely happy to see you alive and well,” Obi-wan responded, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. He had already faced this line of questioning from Mace and Plo and had no doubt that issue would arise again in front of the full Council. How many times would he be forced to spell it out? To explain that he had needed Dooku alive to fulfill a larger objective, that -

"Well, thankfully young Anakin was able to stop Cad Bane from executing the Count's plans."

"Yes, of course, Chancellor."

Obi-wan could practically feel the silent accusations being hurtled at him through the Force by Anakin. Where were you? Why didn't you kill him? Why didn't you contact me? 

“Well, gentlemen, I thank you - yet again - for most likely saving my life. Master Kenobi, I do hope your retransformation goes well. Have the Jedi discussed how they will handle your sudden resurrection?”

Obi-wan swore he heard the metal components of Anakin’s mechanical hand grind together as he formed a fist.

“Not yet, Chancellor.” His own voice was tight, and Obi-wan had to keep himself from mimicking Anakin’s gesture. “We will…we still need to ascertain just how far the story of my demise has travelled.”

The Chancellor merely smiled. “Well, I wish you luck with that, my friend. Very good of you to sacrifice so much for your duty. I must imagine that your comrades will be…relieved to see you well. Right, Anakin?”

The smile on his former Padawan’s face stretched thin. “Of course, Chancellor.” He didn’t spare a single glance towards Obi-wan.

“Good day, gentlemen,” the Chancellor said in parting as he entered his quarters. 

The two Jedi stood in silence as the heavy doors shut closed. 

“Anakin, I -“

“Save your speech for the Council, Obi-wan,” the younger man growled, running a hand through his hair.

Obi-wan grit his teeth. He grabbed his former student by the shoulder. “Look, I know this wasn’t - I - “

Anakin wrenched himself away from Obi-wan’s touch. “This wasn’t what, Master? It wasn’t right? To betray my trust and the trust of everyone around you?” Anakin threw both his arms outwards in frustration, his Force presence exploding. “People GRIEVED, Obi-wan!” He came to face the older Jedi chest-to-chest, poking his finger deep into Obi-wan’s flesh. “ _I grieved,_ ” Anakin croaked, his features scrunched in hurt in a way Obi-wan hadn't seen since the young man had talked of his mother. “And now you just want to pretend that nothing happened, right? Just release it all into the Force? Well, guess what Obi-wan? I. can’t."

"Look, Ana - "

“How  _dare_  you do this to me?" The younger Jedi's voice rose. "To Ahsoka? To everyone who actually cares about you -”

“Enough, Anakin!” Obi-wan drew himself up as tall as he could, fighting through the layers of exhaustion and emotion that wrapped themselves around him. “I did what I had to do! And I’m sorry but the galaxy does not revolve around you and your emotions! I had a duty to fulfill! For once, Anakin, for once, just look past yourself!”

The Force flared in a corona of dark fury.

The older Jedi deflated. “And that, Anakin.” Obi-wan barely managed the words. He was so, so tired. “Your anger - “ The elder Jedi squeezed his forehead with his right hand. “Anakin if you fall it won’t just have consequences for yourself. I’m not blind - I felt your rage, your darkness when you entered the hangar.”

And the flames stopped their chaotic dance, flickering back and forth in confusion. 

“What the  _kriff_  are you talking about, Master?”

Obi-wan rolled his eyes. “Please, Anakin. Whatever it was you did while I was away - it has stained, tainted you. I felt it."

The confusion brightened, the flames spreading in offense, before settling into a smoldering fury. 

“I did what I had to do, Obi-wan,” responded Anakin darkly, cruelly mimicking Obi-wan’s cadence of the statement he had uttered only a moment ago.

“As did I.”

The flames rose again, taller and taller. The Force reached a fevered peak, sounding in warning, but Obi-wan wasn't fast enough. Anakin’s fist collided with his cheek, sending the Jedi reeling backwards. 

“ _Kriff you_ , Obi-wan! I don’t know where you get off accusing me of falling to the dark side or whatever other  _kark_  you have been coming up with, but it’s not true. Just - “ the aggrieved Jedi held up a hand to put distance between himself and the red-headed man. “Just stay the hell away from me.”

The flames sprinted away, leaving only their echoes in the sudden lonely vacuum in the Force.

Obi-wan sagged, holding his throbbing head in both hands. He stared at the durasteel floor of the landing pad, at the long, black gash where his lightsaber had cut through the metal. 

_ There is no emotion - there is...there is nothing.  _

Somewhere inside the Jedi, the darkness smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damnit, Anakin! 
> 
> And you, Obi-wan. GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF.
> 
> Chapter 17: Epilogue. No one is in a good mood, and Obi-wan should probably turn off his holovid projector. 
> 
> Spoiler: He doesn't.
> 
> Thank you for reading! come say hi at the friendly lego compound on tumblr @legobiwan


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To paraphrase Luke Skywalker of recent times, “This isn’t going to go how you think.”
> 
> Umm....the first section of this chapter is a little dark? Maybe? Sorry about that. I'm leaving this untagged for now as there is nothing here that is worse than we got in RotS, but let me know if you think I should add a tag/warning it's an easy fix. For the record, I do not hate Anakin Skywalker's character, but his major development isn't going to come until the *next* story. There were some things in canon about the Padmé/Anakin relationship that I wanted to address here, mostly about possessive behavior and the Sandpeople and how Padmé handled that information. It's, uh, going to be important later on :o

“And then…he accuses me of…of _turning dark_! Of becoming - I don’t know - a Sith or something! How could he _believe that_ -“

The vase toppled off the shelf, falling to the floor in slow motion. Anakin reached around with his other arm, trying to stop its descent, but he was too late. It hit the ground, shattering into a million pieces, the shards reflecting Padmé’s own broken image back at her.

They stood in silence, each one staring down at the remains of the art piece. It had been in the Naberrie family for generations, given to her by her mother when she had assumed her position in the Senate. Glass-blowing had once been practiced throughout Theed, before the export of plasma energy had drastically altered the Naboo economy. Now, such artifacts were difficult to come by, especially hers, which was made from a cobalt compound that had disappeared from the Naboo ores long ago. 

Broken. Just like her, just like this marriage. 

It wasn’t really Anakin’s fault. This wasn’t like the many times he had thrown or smashed something in his anger. No, this time he had carelessly flung an arm out in an expression of frustration, unaware of anything around him, anything beyond himself. 

She looked down at the broken vase again. 

The anger, she could almost live with - had, in fact, been living with for some time. They were both passionate people, and arguments were just part of their relationship. But the casual disregard that was surfacing more and more in his worse moments…

“Well, is he wrong, Anakin?” She knew she shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t stoop to his level, to snipe, to argue like this, with the intent to _hurt_. One look at Anakin’s face drove a shard of glass through her heart before the words were completely out of her mouth.

He reminded her of the wild narglatch she had seen in her youth when they were cornered - wide eyes, shoulders hunched. When properly domesticated, they could be the most docile of creatures, but their feral nature could never quite be stamped out. It took an expert herder to tame them, and the Naboo court had lost more than one worker to an angry narglatch. 

“Look at you, Ani…”

A few steps would close the distance between them. She would take his head on her shoulder, comfort him, and…

And…she just couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. 

Not this time.

Anakin’s face clouded, his eyes hardening in expectation.

“Padmé?”

It was that edge in his voice, that sharp blade - it scared her. She didn’t want to be scared by him, her sweet, wonderful Ani. His caresses so soft, his words so sweet…

His embraces all-consuming.

Would she, too, be another victim of the narglatch? 

Padmé shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the terrible images, of Tatooine, of a dark and uncertain future. Those eyes, that dangerous growl - was that the last thing the Sandpeople had seen, had heard before they were slaughtered like animals? 

She had told him it was natural to feel angry, that the Jedi were wrong, but..but the reality had been that she was in shock. What could she have said when her…her lover had just admitted to mass murder? 

And she had justified it, had had no rebuke for him, had _married_ the man!

She loved him. He was so different, and she just hadn’t had _time_ for romance up until that point. Oh sure, a few childhood flirtations, and that disastrous, forced relationship with Rush Clovis.

What had happened to her life? She was Padmé Amidala Naberrie! Independent, self-assured…and yet…she could feel herself drowning, sinking into Anakin’s possessiveness with each passing day.

And yet she still loved him. 

“Anakin…Ani.”

A narglatch was at its most dangerous when wounded or when there was a threat to its territory. Even the most domesticated narglatch would not hesitate to bite a herder’s arm off if it sensed a loss of even a millimeter of its home. 

“Ani…I…I need you to leave.”

Storm clouds clouded her husband’s features. 

“What do you mean… _leave?_ ”

Padmé swallowed over her rising heartbeat. 

“I can’t…I can’t do this right now.” Her gaze once again found the broken vase on the floor. 

Arms gestured wildly over where the vase had once stood, words flying out of his mouth. The narglatch would often give warning before an attack, its unique call uttered over and over again.

“Padmé, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Just…I…I’ll make it up to you. I’ll - “

She choked back a sob.

“How, Anakin? How are you going to make this up to me this time? I barely see you, and when I do you’re either the sweetest man in the world or…”

Padmé wrapped her arms around herself, biting her lower lip.

“…or you’re this other… _thing_. I don’t even know who you are sometimes!”

Anakin stepped forward, glass crunching under his boots. He grabbed at her arm.

“Padmé, I swear…” His fingers dug into her flesh. “Whatever it is. I’ll do it. Quit the Jedi Order. Move to Naboo. Just you and me. On Varykino. Like before.”

Anakin looked down, the pulse of his racing heart nearly visible underneath his damp skin. He gestured towards the shards on the floor.

“Before this all happened.”

Padmé rubbed her forehead with her free hand. It _had_ been so nice before, almost perfect. But the war had come, and then….

Her stomach turned. 

Was it the war? Really? She had been so in love with Anakin. Brash and charming, their whirlwind romance on Naboo had taken her by surprise, swept her off her feet like in one of those holodramas she had always made fun of.And it had been such a relief, after everything - after the Trade Federation had almost brought her planet down, after the rebuilding of Theed, the negotiations with the Gungans, the campaign to become Senator, the assassination attempt. And there was Anakin, sweet little Anakin - now a Jedi! So brave, yet also so awkward and incredibly vulnerable. Varykino had felt like a dream.

A dream that had shattered after Geonosis.

Reality had come crashing back when they had returned to Coruscant. Gone were the long dinners, the walking hand-in-hand under the stars, exchanging looks and caresses. Even Geonosis was romantic in a way, how they had professed their love to each other on the verge of death, how they had fought side-by-side. But on Coruscant, they had to settle back into their daily life, apart from each other. Their relationship had to be kept secret, hidden from the Jedi and the Senate, from Obi-wan and later, Ahsoka. From Bail and Mon and her parents and…

The stress was fracturing them. The secrets. Or maybe they had been fractured from the beginning. She had overlooked Anakin’s persistence, his almost single-minded obsession with her. It had been so nice to be… _wanted_ in that way. But a Naboo royal and a slave-turned-Jedi? 

Maybe she should have listened to her first instinct on Naboo, when she had spurned his advances.

But that was in the past. And one of the most important lessons her mother had imparted to her was that the past was immutable, etched in stone.

She, however, held the means to write her own future.

Anakin’s gaze was still locked on her, penetrating in its intensity. Padmé could barely make herself meet his blue eyes as she wriggled her arm out of his grip.

“I can’t do this, Anakin. Please, just for now.” She began to walk towards the bedroom. “I need to be alone. I need you to go back to the Temple.”

Anakin moved towards her, each step an ominous crunch of broken glass.

“Don’t do this Padmé.” His voice had dropped nearly an octave.

She didn't respond. If a narglatch showed signs of attack, she recalled from her childhood classes, you were supposed to back away slowly and keep eye contact. 

Padmé felt for the wall behind her.

“You can’t do this _to me!!_ ” Anakin yelled.

If the situation escalated, the only chance for survival was to run. The narglatch was vicious, but slow to its first attack. 

_“Padmé!”_

_Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look back._

“ _STOP!”_

An invisible force grabbed her by the waist. Padmé twisted her head around, her eyes wide. Anakin’s arm was outstretched, his features lined in fury. 

“Anakin,” she whispered. “Please.”

The pressure tightened around her midsection. It was so hard to breathe, she felt as if she was being squeezed in a vise, the walls of her apartment closing in on her very body.

And then it disappeared. 

Padmé heaved forward, breathing deeply, desperately. 

The narglatch was gone.

She brought her head up, staring in horror at her husband. 

Anakin lowered his arm, his features crumpling, disbelief etched into his face.

She ran to the bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Padmé didn’t hear the shouting, the sounds of broken glass and ripped fabric on the other side of the wall. All she knew were her own sobs as she cried herself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you, Skywalker. You may leave now.”

Anakin gave a curt bow to the collected members of the Jedi Council and stormed from the room. 

He hadn’t spared a single glance towards Obi-wan, not even during the entire hour they were being grilled by the Council.

To say that it had been uncomfortable would be an understatement. At least the two Jedi had been on separate transports after wrapping up their investigation on Naboo. Obi-wan had watched Anakin stalk off in the direction of 500 Republica the moment they had landed back on Coruscant, his broad figure cutting a wide swath through Jedi, clones, and workers as he thundered across the landing pad. 

Obi-wan rubbed his cheek, still sore from where Anakin’s fist had collided with it half a day previous. 

He had briefly considered contacting Senator Amidala, to warn her about…

But he had dismissed the notion as quickly as he had entertained it. He had no proof, really. Maybe he had been wrong on the platform on Naboo. Maybe Dooku was playing tricks on him again, like he had on Zygerria. 

Or maybe Anakin really had been corrupted - and he had failed as a Master.

No, he refused to believe that. 

And to contact Padmé now with that kind of accusation…

Obi-wan officially had no idea as to the true nature of the relationship between the Senator and his former student, and he worked very hard to keep it that way. And even in those moments where he had attempted to gently prod at the situation, Padmé would put up a cold wall of impenetrable defense that could challenge the mind tricks of even the strongest of Jedi.

Under the best of circumstances, she would not be inclined to talk to him about it. And to approach her now with unsubstantiated accusations that he didn’t fully believe himself…

Padmé would be fine. She could take care of herself.

“Master Kenobi,” the familiar voice of Yoda broke through his thoughts. “Glad to see you as yourself, we are. Young, you look, without your beard to hide behind.”

Obi-wan grimaced, putting his hand to his chin, a reaction of pure self-consciousness. Thehealers had been able to fashion him with an acceptable hairpiece until his real hair grew back, but the beard…apparently the best scientific advances the Republic could buy still couldn’t help him with that.

“Unfortunate, your bruise is. How came you by it?”

Yes, of course. Not only did his lack of beard make him look far too young, it also gave him the problem of not being able to hide the evidence of Anakin’s indiscretion. 

“Most likely in the general course of an unpleasant, violent mission, Master Yoda,” he answered evenly.

Yoda only hummed in response, looking at him through squinted eyes. Obi-wan’s reappearance in the Jedi Temple healer’s ward had caused some amount of commotion. Kit Fisto had been there to escort him inside, smiling as always, but not with the full, easy expression that he had come to associate with the Nautolan. Adi Gallia had also accompanied him to the transformation chamber, commenting on the darkening purple splotch on his face, her Force presence full of wary concern when she had tried to reach out to Obi-wan, only to have her hand batted away. 

_What in the galaxy had they expected?_

Obi-wan shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearing his throat, and in doing so hoping to clear his mind, as well. Ruminating on the Jedi Council’s amazing degree of obdurate denial in light of what he felt to be obvious would get him nowhere right now. 

“Will that be all, Masters?” Obi-wan summoned the most professional tone he could muster, tinging his voice with a bit of fatigue. Truth be told, he didn’t really have to pretend on that account. He was exhausted, his very bones seeming to vibrate with the effort of both keeping himself awake and in check for so long.

Mace leaned forward in his chair, bringing his elbows to his knees. 

“Not quite, Obi-wan.” The older Jedi threw a glance towards Yoda. “This mission was successful in that Chancellor Palpatine is safe and many of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the galaxy are now…” Mace made a gesture, “…indisposed. However, the attack on the Festival of Light and the second kidnapping attempt has sorely damaged the credibility of the Jedi Order in the eyes of the Senate, and to some degree, the people. Certain arms of the Republic military are lobbying for even more oversight of the Jedi Order, and we risk legislation that would hamper what little independence we have left.”

The room lurched, an unpleasant sensation causing Obi-wan’s stomach to roil.

“Are you saying that I caused - “

Mace held up a hand. “No, not at all.” The Korun Jedi looked in every direction but his own. “You…you did what you could, Obi-wan.”

Well, wasn’t that just the ultimate statement of confidence.

Obi-wan surveyed the rest of the Council, trying to feel for their emotions, for their reactions to Mace’s words. Not one of them met his gaze.

“The more important issue we need to discuss is our political position with the Senate and the military. We cannot afford to lose much more support if we want to win this war quickly and decisively,” Mace continued. 

Obi-wan’s eyebrows furrowed. Why was Mace so concerned with their political standing all of a sudden? They were an independent organization of peacekeepers, not a third political branch of the Republic government!

“I’m not quite following, Master Windu.” He had a bad feeling about where this conversation was leading.

“We need to repair relations with certain Senators, certain representatives from important Core worlds who could sway legislation and public opinion. And despite your words to the contrary, Obi-wan, you are gifted in politics and negotiation.”

Obi-wan wondered if the Council could hear his teeth grinding together.

“I have only done what was necessary, Master Windu. My apprenticeship with Qui-gon provided me ample opportunity with which to hone my diplomatic skills.” It was the truth, more or less. Being abandoned on a planet in the middle of a civil war as a teenager had certainly sharpened his tongue in rather short order. 

He gripped his hands behind his back, willing the inky chill percolating in his blood to return from wherever it had come from. 

“Besides, I thought negotiation was the purview and first goal of each and every Jedi. Not just myself. Or did our prerogatives change while I was gone?”

Mace grunted. “Our prerogatives remain unchanged, Obi-wan. But I know you are not so dense as to not see how we are entangled with the Senate at the moment. The time for change will come after the war. And right now, the Jedi Council - the Jedi Order - needs someone to mend the torn relations between us and the Senate, and you are our best chance at that.”

Obi-wan would have been less surprised if Mace had walked up to him and slapped him across the face. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“In fact, we are. Beginning tomorrow, you will be posted to the Senate as a Jedi ambassador. Use your contacts, discover what you can, and try to smooth things over.”

Obi-wan turned to each Council member, his own mouth agape. “And you _all_ decided this was in our best interest?”

The chamber’s collective silence was stunning.

He felt himself slipping, slipping deeper into the dark wells of the Force. 

No one spoke, no one dared raise a single argument.

Apparently they were all in agreement. 

And so he sank further into that place, that hidden cavern inside himself where _it_ lived. The thing that wanted to break free, to be released from its bonds, to rain havoc and violence all through the Council chamber. 

No! Obi-wan yanked the chain back, a single tendril of pure light illuminated against the violet-black backdrop. It screamed, thrashing this way and that, howling at its captivity. Obi-wan’s grip strained, but remained steady. He didn’t know if he could hold on for much longer, though. With each passing day that single line of effervescence faded into the darkness.

For now, however, the great beast relented, circling in place until it settled into a resting position near his heart. But as Obi-wan heaved a sigh of relief, the creature flipped one eye open, staring directly at the Jedi. 

It was biding its time.

“Master Kenobi?”

He suppressed a growl. The Council wanted him to make amends with the Senate? Fine. He would play their game, make nice with the obsequious politicians and fawning aides. He would tangle with the likes of Admiral Tarkin and his belligerent faction of warhawks. And he would gather information, learn, and bide his own time until the identity of the Sith Lord became clear to him.

“Well. I see the Council has made their decision. I find myself without much choice in the matter, and I will abide by its resolution,” Obi-wan finally responded.

Yoda hopped off his round cushion, his gimmer stick _tap-tapping_ its way across the floor. 

“Relieved of the burden of the front lines, for now, Obi-wan. Much, have you been through. Only for a week or two, this assignment will be.” The Grandmaster’s voice was gentle, his wide eyes searching the young Jedi.

“Then it is settled,” said Mace Windu. “This meeting is adjourned.” 

And that was it. Slowly, the members of the Council filed out, some coming up to Obi-wan to express their good wishes, their relief at his return unharmed. Oppo Rancisis was particularly delightful as he gruffly announced to him that, “at least the Chancellor was safe,” before grunting and slithering from the chamber. 

Such a wonderful man. He wondered if this assignment was his idea. 

The last to leave were Adi Gallia and Plo Koon, Adi placing a warm hand on his arm with a simple, “Welcome back, Obi-wan,” and Plo - Plo, who took him by both arms, who he thought would embrace him in a bear hug if it hadn’t been against the entire culture of the Jedi. Instead, the Kel Dor just breathed, “I’ll take care of them, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan smiled in response. So, his men would be combining with the Wolfpack for now. Plo was a good man, and he, too, actually cared about the clones under his command. At least Obi-wan could feel at ease about that decision.

“Something more, you have to say, Master Kenobi?” Yoda asked, as the last Jedi exited.

The chamber always felt too large with so few Jedi occupying it, with just the three of them - he, Yoda, and Mace Windu. The wide window of the Council chamber was drawn open, the sun just beginning to set on the busy skyline of Coruscant. Red, pink, and violet all ran together in succession, seeping into every pore of the once blue sky, melding with the day to turn it to night as the darkness crept in from the western horizon.

Obi-wan shuddered.

“Mace, why am I being taken off the front lines? The war is still ongoing, and we are nowhere near victory! Or have you just decided to concede some parts of the galaxy to the Separatist forces?” His voice was low and taut, his fists clenching as he met the Korun’s gaze.

Mace gave no ground. “We are conceding nothing, Obi-wan. Skywalker and Tano will be back out there within the next few days, and most of the Council will be deployed to the front lines with their armies.”

“Then why am _I_ to remain here?”

Mace pursed his lips and turned to Yoda. The little green troll limped towards the young Jedi, motioning for him to come closer. Despite his frustration, obedience to Yoda was still programmed into Obi-wan, and he kneeled down to come face-to-face with the diminutive Jedi Master.

“Difficult, your journey has been, Obi-wan.” Yoda closed his eyes, placing both hands on his gimmer stick. “Fear, I do, too much we have asked of you, to become this Rako Hardeen, to play into Dooku’s hands.”

Obi-wan’s breath hitched. 

“Rest, you need. Yes, rest. Away from the bloodshed, the terrible violence the war has to offer. This is why, assign you to the Senate, we will. Valuable your words are, Master Kenobi. Much good you can do - for the war, for the Jedi - during your time on Coruscant.”

Obi-wan gave a tight smile. “Of course, Master Yoda. I will do what I can.”

“And Obi-wan?” Mace chimed in. “You do know that the Council can recommend a mind healer to - “

“That won’t be necessary, Mace.” Obi-wan stood, crossing his arms. “I’m sure the time away from the battlefront will be remedy enough.”

Mace held his stare, but only sighed and nodded after a moment. “As you wish, Obi-wan.”

The two Masters made to leave the chamber, but Obi-wan held up a hand.

“There is one more thing I would like to discuss,” he announced. “If I am to be stationed here on Coruscant, I would like to know who will be looking out for Anakin. I worry that if he is the target of this Sith…”

_Taptaptaptap,_ Yoda’s gimmer stick hit the floor in short, successive raps. “Lies, Dooku has poisoned your mind with!”

Obi-wan froze.

“No idea who you were, you say he had? Hmmph! Clever, my former Padawan is. Manipulation, bending the truth - “

“I assure you, Masters, that if Dooku had known who I was - “

_Tchwack_! Pain billowed in Obi-wan’s shins as Yoda lowered his gimmer stick. 

“Not blind am I, Obi-wan. Know, I do, of Dooku’s desire to recruit you. Talked about this, you and I did, long ago. Dangerous, the Count is. Already agreed to work for him, you did.”

Obi-wan’s face flushed.

“Only as Rako Hardeen, Master Yoda! You don’t possibly believe that if I had had a single inkling that Dooku knew my identity that I would have - “

Mace stepped between the two Jedi. “Obi-wan, please. We know the pressures you were under during this mission. But Yoda is right. Your judgement is clouded, especially when it comes to Skywalker.”

_My judgement is clouded_ , thought Obi-wan acerbically. He crossed his arms tight over his chest, barely containing the snarl that yearned to form on his features. 

And then the realization seeped upwards from his stomach, like a terrible acid. Yes, the Council wanted him to run interference with the Senate. That much was true.

But that was not the only reason he was being kept on Coruscant. 

_They want to observe me._

He clenched a fist. 

Lies. More and more damned lies.

The beast stirred.

“Dooku lied, Obi-wan. He is a Sith. That’s what they do,” Mace said softly. “Skywalker will be fine. Now, go, get some rest. You deserve the time off.”

Obi-wan looked to both Yoda and Mace. Concern was evident in their features, but it was just a front, wasn’t it? 

He gave a curt bow to them both. 

“Yes, of course Masters.”

Obi-wan strode from the Council chamber, robes billowing around him. He reached into his pocket, fingering the small data chip Dooku had thrown to him before escaping from Naboo. 

He was going to find out the truth once and for all.

 

* * *

 

Ahsoka took a deep breath and pressed the comm chime on the door.

It emitted a pleasant sound, a series of dulcet bells, the melody of which she was now familiar with. 

After all, it was the second time in the span of a ten-day that she had been personally summoned to Senator Amidala’s - Padmé’s - apartment. 

She wiped her sweaty palms on her short tunic. It wasn’t that Padmé herself made Ahsoka nervous - they were friends, and not so different in age. But after everything the past few days, the attack on the Festival…

Their interactions on Naboo had been rather limited. Padmé had been at the beck and call of various government functionaries, and Ahsoka was little more than a bodyguard, strategically placing herself in the various staterooms, looking for any sign of trouble, of incident. Despite her young age, it hadn’t been too difficult to intimidate the dignitaries that had filed in. Ahsoka had crossed her arms and glowered at them, just as Skyguy had told her to do.

It had worked well enough. 

But then there had been the attack and that terrible moment of paralyzing fear after the explosion - was Padmé alright? But no one in her charge had been harmed, not really, and Ahsoka had quickly escorted the Naboo delegation to safety inside the palace. 

Later that night she had had to work very hard to ignore the shouting match from behind Padmé’s chamber doors.

Anakin had come flying out and hour later, stalking his way across the grand entrance chamber, his rage echoing in the Force, not even noticing his student’s presence. Padmé had watched him leave, her eyes rimmed red, her expression raw, before giving Ahsoka a wan smile and closing the doors to her chamber. 

That was the last she had seen of either of them until they had arrived back on Coruscant, their transport landing moments before the one carrying Rako Hardeen - Master Obi-wan - had arrived.

The Force was frozen between the two men, her Master practically running away from Rako - from Obi-wan - as soon as they made eye contact. And seeing Obi-wan as Rako Hardeen - she…she was ashamed to say her first instinct had been to grab for her lightsabers. 

“It’s okay, Ahsoka,” he had murmured, even as her _shoto_ illuminated. 

She had immediately shut it off. “I’m so sorry, Master Obi-wan, it’s just - you know.”

Obi-wan had sighed, rubbing at a vicious bruise on his cheek. “Yes, young one. I _do_ know.” He was a void in the Force, Ahsoka having no idea where or how his presence was hiding. And Obi-wan hadn’t said anything else, just those two cryptic sentences before he made his way towards the entrance of the Temple.

And now she was at Padmé’s door once again, for reasons she couldn’t even begin to guess at. Anakin hadn’t come back to their quarters after his Council debriefing, and no one had seen fit to tell her _anything._ Lacking any other options, she had switched on the Holonet in hopes of learning _something._

What she saw had made her gasp. 

_“Second Attack on Naboo!”_

_“The Jedi - Invincible or Ineffective?”_

_“Senate Talks of Curtailing Jedi Council Powers”_

She brought up a recent news story recounting the events of the second kidnapping attempt. Apparently, Cad Bane had been apprehended by the authorities as the sole perpetrator, although there were rumors that Count Dooku himself had been seen on Naboo.A quick glance through the public comments had been enough for her - opinions ranging from the Jedi were too weak, too pacifist, to they were secretly in collusion with the Separatists and were a cult who wanted to take over the Republic - it was all she really needed to see before shutting off the datapad in disgust. 

Just what had happened that second night on Naboo?

Ahsoka threw the thought aside as the door to Padmé’s apartment finally _whooshed_ open. Perhaps the Senator could shed some light on the matter.

A disheveled Padmé greeted her at the door.

Perhaps not.

The Senator gestured for her to enter, sniffling and wiping at her eyes as she led Ahsoka into the sitting room. 

Ahsoka followed, her eyes fixed on the back of the Senator’s head. Padmé’s hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, and she was still wearing her night robes, which were crumpled. Obviously, she had not been outside of her apartment since returning to Coruscant. 

“Senator, I - “

A _crunch_ under Ahsoka’s boots interrupted her sentence. The Togruta Jedi stood still, lifting her foot to inspect the sole of her boot. 

Broken glass. Blue, translucent, almost like that vase that -

Ahsoka’s heart stopped.

_Oh no._

Scattered all around her were shards of the vase, a prized possession of the Senator’s, if she remembered correctly. Pillows were strewn about the foyer, some torn open, their stuffing falling out in a way that was far too similar to battlefield injuries she had seen in the clones. 

Ahsoka closed her eyes, reaching out with the Force for answers.

She held out a hand, trying to grasp at the fleeting images, but they went by too fast. She could feel emotions - rage, sadness, denial - and something that was far too much like Anakin’s presence. Shouting, distress, and - 

She gasped, the trance broken, her breaths heavy. 

Padmé regarded her with a distant look.

“Tea?”

It was a ridiculous question. But Ahsoka supposed it was important to have some kind of normalcy in what was obviously a very abnormal situation. She walked over to where Padmé had sat, accepting the cup wordlessly. She did not miss the fact that the Senator took nothing for herself.

They sat in silence, looking out the large window, the Coruscant traffic scuttling back and forth like energetic insects.

Five minutes went by, then ten…

Ahsoka shifted in her seat, her tea turning cool. 

_Allow the other to speak first_ , Master Plo had taught her. It was a lesson that Master Obi-wan had reiterated, although his advice had been more about the art of negotiation than intimate interpersonal relationships. Still, she figured the idea held true in either situation, and she held her tongue, hoping Padmé would eventually open up.

Another five minutes went by.

Ahsoka placed her cup on the table. Masters Obi-wan and Plo may have had good advice, but they had conveniently forgotten to tell her _how_ long to wait for the other person to speak.

And patience was not one of Ahsoka’s strong suits. 

“Senator - “

“How do you know if a Jedi is dark, Ahsoka?” Padmé interrupted.

What?

“I - uh - I mean…”

Ahsoka rung her hands in her lap. Where had  _that_ come from? She was at a complete loss. Padmé had more knowledge of the Jedi than your typical politician, but how to explain…why would she even ask?

Could she tell her? Was that allowed? Once again, Ahsoka felt herself being thrown into waters too deep for her, with no life preserver, no one to help guide her to the correct answer. 

“Wow. Um. I wasn’t expecting that. I mean…” Ahsoka stammered. “I guess…we’re taught about the Sith, who embraced fear, who used too much emotion - “

One glance at the Senator told her that this wasn’t going well. 

Ahsoka took a large breath in. She could only do what she thought was best. 

And the best option she had was honesty.

“Let me try this again. Master Yoda always says that fear leads to anger, which leads to hate, which leads to the dark side. Which, I guess, is pretty accurate? I’ve never known a Jedi who was going dark, just the Sith, who - who are already there. I mean, apparently Dooku _was_ a Jedi at one point, but that was way before my time. And…”

She was rambling.

Padmé fixed her with a calculating stare. 

“You mean to say, that if a Jedi goes dark, they could end up like Dooku, or worse even.”

Ahsoka’s mouth hung open. “Yes? I guess? We…we’re really not encouraged to talk about it.” Something niggled at the back of Ahsoka’s mind. Somehow she _did_ know of the dark, but it was a refracted memory, one she wasn’t sure had even happened and -

“Ahsoka, I need to tell you something. About Anakin.”

 

* * *

 

The darkness surrounded him.

This time he would approach the beast, not as an adversary but as a partner. A conciliatory gesture, a way to understand. Obi-wan held out a hand - just as Qui-gon had shown him all those years ago on Pantora.

The beast was still tethered by the light. It raised its snout, sniffing in Obi-wan’s general direction. Yellow-red eyes stared back at him, and Obi-wan felt his arm falter. 

_No._

He needed to do this, needed to learn what was growing inside of him. Knowledge was power. It would do him no good to bury his head in denial, as the Council was so apt to do.

The beast stirred again, stretching its slumber from its limbs. Now fully awake, it warily plodded toward him. 

The large form loomed closer and closer - Obi-wan felt himself beginning to yield under its massive power. But he kept his arm steady, even as his muscles strained with the effort. 

The beast reached out towards him. 

Its snout was cold and wet. 

Obi-wan felt himself relax incrementally. 

And then sharp incisors buried themselves into his hand, his forearm. Blood poured from the wounds, viscous and dark. Pain bloomed in his arm. 

Obi-wan Force-pushed the beast away, its teeth ripping flesh with the movement.

Blood dripped onto the invisible floor as he outstretched his arm to -

A comm chimed.

His steps faltered and the world spun around him.

Obi-wan held himself steady against the cool wall of the Jedi Temple corridor as reality shifted back into place.

The hall was empty. 

The Jedi’s breaths heaved, his fake hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He allowed himself to fall flush against the wall, his knees buckling under him. 

Finally, the incessant beeping of the comm stopped.

Obi-wan opened his eyes, panting. He stared at his arm, which pulsed in pain.

Nothing. No blood, no gashes. Just the hidden scar underneath his glove. 

A quick glance at his communicator told him that he had just missed a third attempted call from Senator Amidala.

Obi-wan pushed himself up to a standing position, ripping the comm off of his wrist. He buried it in a pouch on his belt as he lurched in the direction of his quarters.

He didn’t have time for this. Not until he _knew._

Lies and deceit swirled around him in the Force. No one spoke the truth, everyone spoke the truth. And yet…and yet they _all_ expected _him_ to believe, to follow _their_ orders. 

The Council was watching him. 

All of his bonds had been severed with the act of becoming Rako Hardeen. Anakin would never trust him again. He was distanced from his men. The Council believed him corrupted….

Who was left? 

_“Prove me wrong, Master Kenobi. I repeat that I have not lied to you nor have I gone out of my way to bend the truth - unlike the Order which you so blindly follow.”_

Fine. He would prove Dooku wrong, as well. And when he had proof that the was lying, that Anakin was safe, he could…he would...

Obi-wan glanced behind him as he unlocked his apartment door. 

Nothing stirred. 

At least the Council hadn’t decided to place a tail on him. 

Not yet, anyway.

He sighed as he stepped inside, immediately locking the door behind him. Obi-wan stood for a minute with his back against the entraceway, the tension slowly melting from his shoulders.

He was safe - alone. 

And now he would prove Dooku’s deceit. 

He walked over to his storage closet, retrieving his holovid player from the dusty top shelf, ignoring the riverstone that sat next to it.

His hands shook.

Tea, maybe he needed tea first.

Obi-wan staggered to the kitchen, grasping at the bright orange mug that Anakin had given him years ago. It was a garish color, as brash and unsubtle as his former Padawan.

The mug slipped through his sweaty hands, crashing to the floor.

He yelled out a vile curse, smashing his fist onto the counter in frustration. 

No. It was better to just get this over with.

He pulled the projector from his pocket, placing it on the tiled surface, digging into his robes with his other hand for the video chip.

It was so small, such a minor, meaningless piece of technology. 

Obi-wan inserted the chip with a trembling hand. 

The projector beeped on, a series of bluish images loading.

Over and over, it looped, only a few seconds of video. 

Deadly intent, beautiful in its rage, its exactitude.

The Queen, the guards - dying once, twice, again and again.

And yet it wasn’t enough for him. 

Obi-wan gripped the device, willing the images to be false, to be planted. 

But the Force echoed otherwise. 

The projector clattered to the ground, the video faltering.

He could still hear the dying sounds of the Zygerrians.

Obi-wan held his head in his hands. 

It had been _him._

Dooku had told the truth all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took a certain direction, now didn’t it? 
> 
> YOU GUYS IT’S FINISHED!
> 
> For now…
> 
> The next story will be called “Broken Ashes” and I have it 70-80% outlined at this point. I am *very* excited for the third installment of this series. Anakin and Mace will get a lot of interaction time, I get to introduce Quinlan and Ventress into the plot, and we will reach a certain climax with the Obi-wan/Dooku situation. :D The plot will move A LOT faster in this next story. 
> 
> This has actually been a rather rough year for me irl and if certain parts of “Hard Deviations” feel a little stagnant compared to “Undoing Dichotomy” - well, they always say that art imitates life, right? I am happy to report that everything is *finally* moving in the right direction and that will probably be reflected in my writing. (In fact, it already is to some degree with the last few chapters of this story.) Onwards and upwards, my friends, onwards and upwards.
> 
> Please feel free to stop by my tumblr and say “hello there!” I love talking about Dooku, Obi-wan and general Star Wars flailing, INCLUDING the new movie. @legobiwan 
> 
> THANK YOU ALL FOR READING, KUDOS-ING, AND COMMENTING! HAVE A LOVELY START TO YOUR 2018!


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